


Take Another Little Piece of My Heart Now, Baby

by blue_jack



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Steve Rogers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Non-superhero AU, Oblivious Tony, Pining, Steve Feels, Tony's parents are alive, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jack/pseuds/blue_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jennagrins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennagrins/gifts).



> For the amazing Jennagrins who won me during the auction on tumblr to raise money for AO3. Thank you so much for helping out. <3
> 
> This is a wip, but one I will definitely be finishing. If it seems familiar, it's because I already posted this part in my Short Stories (although I've tweaked it a little bit since then). The next chapter will start the completely new material.
> 
> Rating will go up in the future. Unbeta'd.
> 
> Title from the song “Piece of My Heart” sung by Janis Joplin.

“I think we should get married,” Tony announced as he let himself into Steve’s apartment, plopping next to him on the couch.

“And why would we do that?” Steve asked, only pausing long enough for the springs to settle before he resumed sketching.

“Because we’re madly in love!” 

Hmm. He tilted his head. Was there something wrong with the hands? The perspective seemed off.

“Because we’re in like?”

Maybe it was the shadowing. A little too much on top and not enough—

“Because I will pay you tons and tons of money?”

Steve sighed, lowering his pad. “Tony—”

“Come on, Steve, come on,” Tony whined, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and looking up at him pitifully. “Can’t you do this teeny tiny favor for me?”

“I’m not marrying you,” he said, ignoring the way his heart twinged in protest, because he’d been half in love with Tony for almost a year now, and he would never have dreamed he’d be saying those words right now. _Oh, stop_ , he thought at it, annoyed and wistful. _He’s not serious, and you’re being ridiculous_.

“Why not?” Tony asked, looking baffled.

“ _Why not_?” He lightly smacked Tony on the head with his sketchpad and stood up, taking a few steps before turning around to face him. He normally enjoyed Tony’s lack of respect for personal boundaries—too much sometimes—but at that moment, he needed some distance between them. “There are so many reasons why I won’t marry you, Tony, _so many_.”

“Name one!”

“How about we’re not even dating!”

“See, there’s a remedy for that! Steve, will you go out on a really long date with me that starts with dinner and ends in front of a judge—”

“I can’t believe you,” he said, even though this was Tony, so actually he could. “What is this about, Tony? Really.”

Tony’s face scrunched up. “I may have told my parents that I got married,” he mumbled.

“ _What_?”

“You don’t know my parents, Steve,” Tony said darkly. “It’s always something with them. ‘What do you mean it’s going to take you two years to graduate college and three to get your doctorate? You want to start your own company? Why would you do that when you could take over after your father? You’re only bringing in ten million a year; how do you survive? Do you have to wear sunglasses all the time? You look like a drug dealer.’” He sniffed. “As if I could ever look anything other than amazing. Seriously, it never ends with them. When they started hinting about the marriage thing, I thought—I just wanted to get them off my back, you know?” 

“But . . . but what does that have to do with me?” he asked plaintively while thinking, _Ten million a year? Holy crap._

“It has everything to do with you, Steve. Dear Steve. Dear, sweet, _helpful_ Steve.”

“No. _No_ , Tony. Why not Pepper? Or Natasha? Wouldn’t it make more sense to ask one of them?” 

“Oh, I told my parents years ago that I was gay. Had to head them off at the pass about the whole grandkid thing. Stroke of genius if I do say so myself.” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but . . . he really didn’t know how to respond to that. It made so much Tony-sense that Steve couldn’t even berate him.

“I’m not marrying you,” he repeated instead, trying to infuse the words with as much conviction as possible.

“That’s okay,” Tony said, still looking hopefully at him. “I don’t think they believed me when I said I eloped and got married by Elvis anyway. What if we just say we’re engaged?”

“I don’t want to lie to your parents!” he said, scandalized, and glared at the way Tony’s lips turned up. Stupid Tony. Stupid crush on stupid Tony.

“Alright, what about just boyfriends then?” Tony said, giving in so easily that Steve had the irritating certainty that that had been exactly what Tony had been hoping for all along. “That’s not really lying. We’re friends. And we’re boys. Well, men. Manly men even. So manfriends then. Except manfriends sounds a little raunchy, but maybe that’s just me.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand. “Are your parents coming to town or something?”

“No, it’s my dad’s sixtieth birthday. They’re throwing a big party, everyone’s invited, and as the only child, I’m expected to show up. We’d fly out tomorrow, be back the day after that. If you agreed,” he added, and Steve knew, just _knew_ that Tony had already purchased the tickets for the both of them.

“Come on, Steve, you’ll love it,” Tony said, the wheedling full force in his voice. “My parents are staying in LA for the winter, and it’s beautiful out there. No black snow on the ground or people resembling the Michelin Man because of all the layers they’re wearing. Just gorgeous beaches and gorgeous people with tons of food and a tub in your bathroom so big, you could swim in it. I’ll even fly you first class. You’ll be in the lap of luxury the whole time.”

Rather than admitting the only gorgeous person or view he wanted was the one right in front of him, Steve said, “Tony, you know I don’t care about that sort of thing.”

“You’re right, I do know, and seriously, what is wrong with you? How are we even friends?”

Steve smiled reluctantly, because Tony always made him smile, even when he was driving him crazy.

“Why can’t you ask someone else? Clint, I bet, would love to have an all-expense-paid weekend in—”

Tony waved his hand dismissively. “Are you kidding? Me and Clint? Alone? For a whole weekend? We’d kill each other. Besides, my parents would never buy it.”

“But they’d believe you and I were together?” he asked, a last ditch effort to get out of going.

“Well, I don’t know if they’d do that either, but they’d certainly hope,” Tony said, laughing. “Come on, Steve, you’re like a mother’s wet dream, polite, handsome, sincere. Any girl—or guy—would be lucky to take you home to the family.” 

Steve tried to resist, he did, tried to ignore Tony’s hangdog expression and harden his resolve, but it was pointless. He’d known he was going to go along with whatever Tony wanted as soon as he’d barged into his apartment.

“What about Rhodey?” he asked in a last-ditch effort to foist the problem onto someone else.

“They’ve known Rhodey for years. They know he knows better.”

“Or, or Bruce? Or Thor—yeah, okay, not Thor.”

“C’mon, Steve. When do I ever ask you for anything?”

He glared.

“You’re right, wrong tactic. _Please_ ,” Tony said, brown eyes large and soulful, and damn it, why couldn’t Steve say no to him? “It would mean a lot to me.”

“This is such a bad idea,” he said, shoulders slumping.

“Great!” Tony sprang to his feet. “You won’t regret this, Steve, you’ll see!”

“I _already_ regret it,” he muttered.

“I’ll text you with the details for tomorrow,” Tony said, already heading for the door. While Steve would’ve liked to think Tony hadn’t heard him, it was more likely that he’d chosen to ignore him since he’d already gotten his way. “Don’t worry about taking anything nice. I’ve got it covered. Thank you, Steve, love, darling, light o’ my life!”

“Tony—”

“See you tomorrow!” he called, slamming the door behind him and leaving Steve’s apartment that much dimmer in his absence.

“I guess I’m going to LA,” Steve said to the empty room after a long moment and went to go pack.

\-----

Steve was standing outside his door at seven in the morning when Tony—scratch that, when Tony’s driver came by. He said good morning to Happy and peered into the backseat where Tony was sprawled, nursing a huge cup of coffee, sunglasses firmly in place.

“Did you sleep at all?” Steve asked, voice heavy with resignation. 

“Sleep is for wimps,” Tony said, handing Steve a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai tea and simultaneously avoiding the question. 

“If by wimps you mean normal, sane people, then yes, you’re right.”

“Who wants to be normal?” Tony asked, taking a large drink of what Steve knew was not his first coffee of the morning. He shuddered to think how much caffeine was probably flowing through his bloodstream at that moment.

“You should take a nap; otherwise you’ll scare your parents when you land. You know how you get when you’re tired.”

“Pffft, you think they aren’t used to this by now? Where do you think I got it from in the first place?”

“Oh no,” Steve said, dawning horror plain in his voice. “Are there _three_ of you?”

Tony started snickering, which wasn’t encouraging at all actually. “Don’t worry, Steve, we’re only going to be there one night. I’ll protect you from those big, scary workaholics. Ooh, speaking of which, you know they’re going to want to grill you.”

“Don’t remind me. I don’t know how you convinced me—”

“It’s not going to be that bad! I’ll be there too, and I’ll field all the difficult questions. Just . . . be yourself. It’ll be fine. And, um, don’t flinch or anything when I kiss you. Okay, so that’s it then,” Tony said, leaning forward to put his cup into a holder

“Tony,” Steve said, dragging him back by his collar. “What do you mean _when you kiss me_?”

“It’s not a big deal, just a few smooches here and there. You won’t even notice.”

“ _How am I supposed to not notice when you’re kissing me_?” he asked, his voice coming out strained even to his own ears, because seriously. _Seriously_.

“Hey! Don’t make it sound like such a hardship! I’ll have you know I’m a very good kisser!”

The last thing—the very _last_ thing—Steve needed to think about was Tony and his mouth and how good he was with it.

“As a matter of fact, I can tie two cherry stems into knots _at the same time_ , so—”

Thankfully, Happy chose that moment to lower the privacy window, because who knew what Steve would’ve said to that.

“The pilot just called. They’re expecting an hour’s delay because of the weather. You want me to stop somewhere, or would you prefer to keep going?”

“Mmm, let’s just keep going. The chef said he’d make those cream puffs Steve likes so much, so we can munch on those while we’re waiting. And before you ask, Happy, don’t worry, I told him to pack an extra box for you.”

“Oooh, cream puffs,” Steve heard as the screen went back up, the car picking up speed.

“Wait, pilot? Chef?”

“Uh, didn’t I mention?” Tony asked, eyes going all shifty. “We’re taking my personal jet.”

“ _Tony,_ ” Steve groaned.

“I told you I’d fly you first class—”

“There’s first class, Tony, and then there’s having a whole airplane to ourselves!”

Tony folded his arms, his expression indicating Steve was ruining his fun. Not that Steve cared.

“I don’t want you spending money on me—”

“I’m not spending it on _you_! I’m spending it on _me_! You just happen to be coming along for the ride.”

“Tony,” he began, rubbing his face.

“Look, it’s just a preference thing, alright? I like my own space. I like following my own rules. I’m not the type of person who takes ‘you are now free to move about the cabin’ and ‘turn off all cellular and portable devices’ well. Do I seem like that type of person? Because if you think I am, we really need to reconsider whether we can pull this off.”

“Fine, alright, fine,” Steve sighed, because when Tony put it like that, he couldn’t disagree. “I get it. I’ll stop complaining.”

“Thank you.” Tony drummed his fingers against his knee. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should also probably warn you about the stripper poles. Not to worry though, I’ve told them no in-flight entertainment is needed today.”

“Tony,” he began in an appalled tone of voice. “You don’t have—”

“No, no, no, there’s no actual stripping!” Tony said, holding his hands up. “They just dance! I dance too! We all dance. Together! As a matter of fact, if the mood hits you, I could have them play something especially for you—”

“I am not going to dance on the plane!”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” Tony said, adjusting his sunglasses and avoiding Steve’s gaze. He eventually pulled out his phone and started tapping away at it, leaving Steve to entertain himself.

Try as he might though, Steve couldn’t stop himself from eventually saying, “Stripper poles? Really?”

“Would you believe I was very drunk?”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Good, let’s go with that then.”

\----- 

Tony did finally end up sleeping when they were an hour into the flight, slumping down in his chair even though he’d told Steve the seats reclined to a completely horizontal position. Steve tried to focus on the book he’d brought, but it wasn’t long before he was turning his seat toward him and watching, taking it all in.

There’d always been something about Tony that got to him. The first time they’d met had been at Pepper’s birthday party, Tony stumbling in as most people were getting ready to leave. Steve had thought he’d been drunk from the way he was acting and had pulled him aside, telling him off for being rude and obnoxious on Pepper’s special day. 

Tony, it had turned out, had been caught up in one of his fits of genius, going without sleep for almost seventy-two hours and not realizing what day it was until the third time JARVIS had reminded him he was late. He’d gotten two tickets for speeding on his way over and almost gotten another one for annoying the second officer so much. He’d also been the one paying for Pepper’s party as one of his many gifts to her. It hadn’t excused him, but it’d been enough to make Steve feel guilty when he found out, and the next time they’d run in to each other, he’d approached Tony to clear the air.

It hadn’t gone well. Steve had later discovered their mutual friends had talked at length about him to Tony, being far too kind and complimentary, so that Tony had constructed a larger-than-life version of Steve in his head that Steve had carelessly toppled over by being unfairly judgmental. At the time, though, Tony’s sarcastic response to his overture had just reinforced Steve’s opinion of him, and it had taken months of their friends throwing them together at various gatherings before he and Tony had had a civil conversation.

Now, two years after their first meeting, they had the keys to each other’s homes, saw each other two to three times a week, and texted who knew how many times a day.

It should’ve been enough for him, having Tony depend on him, getting all those little bits and pieces of Tony that no one else ever got to see. And in many ways it was, because Steve valued their friendship so much, he would never have done anything to jeopardize it. 

Not even telling the person he was in love with that he had feelings for him. 

He didn’t know when he’d started wanting Tony. When he thought about it, which he did more frequently than he’d like, he couldn’t pinpoint a time or an occasion that had cemented it for him, hadn’t even realized what was happening until it’d been too late. Maybe if he had, he could’ve guarded against it, spent less time with Tony, protected his heart better, done _something_ to keep it from happening, because in all the time Steve had known Tony and seen him hit on pretty much anything that moved, Tony had never once indicated he thought of Steve as anything other than a friend.

Steve had never been the type of guy to give up on something, even when it was a hopeless case. So he took these stolen moments and savored them, even if they resembled something like torture, and he let himself get talked into doing one crazy stunt after another simply because Tony asked him to. Because he always wanted to be the one Tony turned to, be the reason Tony lit up with happiness, and Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care that his heart ached that much more every time it happened. Even a little bit was better than nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

“Huh, what? What did I miss?” Tony asked, jerking upright in his chair, because he woke up the same way he did everything else, foot slamming on the accelerator and not caring about the direction so long as he was moving.

Steve closed his notepad. “Nothing much. We’re still a couple of hours out. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“Are you kidding? I’m wide awake,” Tony said as he yawned and rubbed at his face. 

Steve’s fingers itched to make the tuft of Tony’s hair that was sticking out lie flat, but he valiantly ignored the urge. Besides being extremely inappropriate, he liked the way Tony looked, tousled and slightly unbalanced, and furthermore, he looked forward to the expression of wounded dignity that would appear on Tony’s face when Steve finally revealed its presence—right before they landed.

Teasing Tony was one of his favorite pastimes.

“Are you sure? I was getting used to you twitching in your sleep and occasionally saying things like, ‘flux capacitor, ha!’ and ‘put the fire extinguisher _down_ , DUM-E.’ You’re better than an in-flight movie.”

“That’s me, a party a minute. As a matter of fact, I have a—”

“Please don’t say you have a party in your pants.”

“I am so disappointed in you right now, Steve.”

Tony stretched, his shirt rising, and Steve tried not to look—and when that failed, tried even more not to be disappointed when the shirt didn’t rise high enough to show skin. He was a horrible person. A horrible, _horrible_ person. Tony was obviously a bad influence on him. 

Or maybe Bucky. Definitely Clint. All his friends were bad influences on him really.

He turned away in order to resist further temptation and tucked his notepad safely in his luggage before picking up his book again.

“You know, there _are_ actually movies on board,” Tony said, amused, as if he didn’t understand why anyone would choose to read a book if he didn’t have to. “Like, _hundreds_ of movies. Some of them aren’t even out in the theaters yet—”

“That’s illegal, Tony.”

“Only if you get caught. Oh, c’mon, Steve! I’m awake now. You can’t expect me to sit here watching you read; that’s pretty much second in line to watching paint dry, right before waiting for water to boil.”

Steve wondered how Tony would rank watching someone sleep because you knew you’d never get the chance otherwise, and then immediately banished the thought. He had to stop. He’d been in love with Tony for a long time, but he wasn’t normally so maudlin about it. Yes, Tony was asking him to play a part that Steve desperately wished were real, but if he wasn’t careful, Tony would figure out that fact, and then where would that leave him? With Tony feeling guilty for not feeling the same way, or avoiding him, or hesitating before reaching out, worried that Steve would take it the wrong way?

He couldn’t let that happen.

“What about Halo? Just Dance—” 

“I told you, I’m not dancing on the plane.”

“You’re just bitter that I schooled you last time. What can I say; these hips don’t lie. League of Legends then? Mario Kart? You know you can’t say no to Mario Kart.”

They ended up playing video games until it was time to land, and having his ass handed soundly back to him—“You installed a cheat, didn’t you?” “Blasphemy, my fingers are _magic_.”—helped him think less about what was coming up and more about what they already were to each other. It was going to be fine. He’d make sure of it.

\-----

The problem with all of Steve’s plans involving Tony was that _they involved Tony_ , which meant that half the time, he was throwing them out completely, and the other half, he was madly trying to catch up to something Tony had said or done and improvising as he went along.

Tony had said he was going to kiss him at some point, and Steve had already started mentally gearing up for it. It was going to be in front of Tony’s parents after all, so it couldn’t be much more than a peck or slightly longer press of the lips, either of which he could handle. What he _didn’t_ know if he could handle, however, were all the touches.

Back at home, Tony touched him all the time, casual touches, a punch to the arm, a poke to the side, a quick, one-armed hug with the requisite two thumps on the back. They weren’t anything like . . . this.

“Will you stop?” Tony asked, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Steve’s hand once again. “It’s like you’ve never held hands before, calm down, jeez.”

“The issue isn’t whether or not I’ve held hands before,” Steve said as he pulled free. “The issue is that I’ve never held hands with _you_ —”

“See, but that’s my point! I’m trying to get you used to—”

“I know what you’re doing, and when we’re in front of your parents, I will be more than happy to hold hands or—or snuggle or gaze adoringly at you if that’s what it takes,” Steve said, swinging his backpack to his other arm in order to create more distance between them and trying not to think about having to do any of that. “But practicing with you right now when no one else is around is just making me jumpy.”

“If you would just go with the flow—”

“There is no flow.”

“There could be—”

“No.”

“I just—”

“ _No_.”

“Do you hear that sound? That is the sound of you sucking all the enjoyment out of this experience for me.” Tony sulked. “I should’ve asked Clint.”

“That is the first sensible thing you’ve said all day,” Steve said, trying to ignore how Tony had basically said he would’ve liked to hold hands with Steve, maybe even more. It was just Tony’s scheming side coming out. It didn’t mean anything.

“Hmph. Just remember that my parents have to _believe_ we’re together, otherwise, the whole trip is wasted.”

“Other than the whole celebrating your father’s birthday part, you mean?”

“Now you’re just getting technical,” Tony said, waving his hand. “Think ‘boyfriend,’ Steve. _Be_ the boyfriend. _Live_ the boyfriend.”

“I _will_. When your parents are around. By the way,” Steve said, having a sudden thought and realizing he needed to bring it up before it became an actual point of contention, “don’t even _think_ of slapping my butt in front of your parents.”

“Would I do that?”

He glared.

“Damn it. You know me so well,” Tony said and sighed.

\-----

There was someone holding up a sign that said “Anthony” when they exited the plane. 

“My dad,” Tony said to explain why they needed a sign considering there was no one else on the airstrip other than the people taking care of the plane. “He likes to think he’s funny.” 

They loaded their things into the trunk—by which Steve meant he and the driver Mark did it while Tony looked on. Steve cleared his throat and glanced down at the bags, but all Tony did was smile fondly at him and say, “Look at you trying to be a good influence on me! My parents will eat that up with a spoon!”

It wasn’t until they were sitting in the back with the privacy screen up that Steve said, “Speaking of your parents—” 

Tony put one finger to his mouth and held his other hand up to stop Steve from speaking.

“I told you not to worry about it,” Tony said in a relaxed tone of voice while miming at Steve aggressively, pointing to his ears first and then jabbing at various locations around the interior. “They’re going to love you! Don’t be nervous.”

“Tony,” Steve said doubtfully, because Tony couldn’t be implying what he thought he was implying. “What are you—?”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that, Steve!” Tony said, throwing himself forward and nearly choking himself on his seatbelt in the process. Steve blinked as Tony briefly fought for freedom before finally giving up and reaching over to cover Steve’s mouth with his palm. 

“I mean, what, I can’t steal a kiss or two just because we’re in my parents’ car? They won’t ever know!” Tony said as he made a slashing gesture across his throat with his free hand. 

Steve dimly noted that Tony smelled a little like the bacon that he had eaten with his fingers after he’d gotten tired of the club sandwich he’d had for lunch, and told himself that he definitely did _not_ want to lick any and all bacon grease off his fingers.

He took one last deep breath then nodded to show he wouldn’t try to talk about the plan again before gently pulling Tony’s hand away.

“I don’t think that would be very appropriate,” Steve said, because what else was there to say?

“Appropriate, schmappropriate. I want—”

“I thought you said it was going to be sunny.”

“What?” Tony said, even as he gave Steve a quick thumbs-up. “I never said sunny. I said no black snow and not having to wear five layers of clothing in order to keep warm, and I have delivered.”

“And gorgeous beaches.”

“ _And_ gorgeous beaches. There’s one right outside my house as a matter of fact. I will take you there tonight, and we can walk through frigid water in our tuxes, our shoes dangling from our fingertips like—”

“Wait, tuxes? We’re wearing tuxes?”

“Tuxes? Who said anything about tuxes?” Tony asked, grabbing his sunglasses from where they were hanging off the collar of his shirt and putting them on. “You must have misheard me. Oh look, is that Denzel Washington in the car two lanes over—”

“Tony, I don’t _own_ a tuxedo,” Steve said, half in panic—where would he rent a tux this close to the party starting?—and half in warning—surely Tony hadn’t bought him—

“Surprise?” Tony said, smiling hopefully.

“Tony, you can’t—please tell me you just rented—”

Tony’s scrunched nose was answer enough.

“At least tell me it wasn’t expensive!”

“It wasn’t expensive.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“We really need to work on your trust issues,” Tony said, before giving up. “Why are you looking at me like that? I do not deserve Stern Face Version 3.2, Steve. I told you I would take care of it, didn’t I?”

“I packed a suit!” Steve said and then wanted to shove Tony at the “aren’t you just the cutest little thing” expression he made. “Tony—”

“Oh, c’mon, I was already forcing you to fly for twelve hours over two days, and meet the parents, and socialize with people you don’t know in what is probably going to be an incredibly boring party. I wasn’t going to ask you to buy a tux on top of that, when who knows if you’ll ever wear it again.”

“I am paying you back.”

“You can’t pay me back; it’s a gift.”

“Tony, I am _paying_ you _back,_ ” Steve said with an air of finality.

“You can’t _pay back_ a _gift_ ,” Tony said, equally obstinate. 

“Well you’re just going to have to return it then—”

“You can’t return a bespoke tuxedo!”

“How can it be bespoke when you don’t even have my measurements?” Steve asked, appalled that Tony would shell out the money for a custom-made tux and concerned it would take longer for him to pay for it than he’d originally thought.

“Oh, please. JARVIS knows the measurements of everyone who’s ever been to my house,” Tony said lightly, as if it they weren’t discussing an incredible invasion of privacy. “How about this? I am willing to meet you halfway. I will let you pay me back, if you let me decide the method of payment.”

“Why do I have an intense feeling of foreboding right now?”

“No, seriously, hear me out.”

“I’m not going to be your personal slave, Tony.”

“Okay, moving on to option number two then. Kidding. Don’t look at me like that, Steve, I was just kidding. You can pay me back in kisses! Also kidding! Haha, learn to take a jo—ack! Abuse, abuse! What if we—oops, gotta get this, hold on a sec,” Tony said, glancing at his phone as it started ringing. 

But it was nearly twenty minutes later before Tony finally ended the call, and by that point, Steve had given up any plan on arguing with Tony about the tux—he’d just have to hide the money in a place Tony was sure to find months from now after he’d forgotten about the whole thing. 

He apparently couldn’t discuss their plans since the car might be bugged—he hoped this was just Tony’s paranoia coming through versus an indication of how Tony had been raised—and the closer they got to Tony’s home, the more antsy he became. 

Yes, he and Tony weren’t actually dating, but Steve still wanted to make a good impression on his parents. He didn’t want to disappoint them _or_ Tony, and even though they’d already discussed how he should act (normally), how they’d handled Tony’s previous boyfriends and/or girlfriends (“Why do you keep laughing? Tony, stop laughing!”), and what Tony hoped to accomplish (“I just want them to love you so much that when I tell them we broke up, they go with you as part of the divorce.”) , Steve wanted to go over it all again.

“Steve, _relax_ ,” Tony said as he finally put his phone away, because they knew each other well enough that he could recognize when Steve was panicking internally. “You’re getting worked up over nothing. No one can get to know you and not fall a little bit in love. Trust me, you’ll be great,” he said, opening up the tiny fridge to get a drink.

 _You didn’t_ , Steve thought before he could stop himself, so caught off guard by the careless words that he had to look away before Tony could see his face crumble. _You didn’t fall in love with me_.

It hurt. Not because Steve didn’t know the truth, but because he knew it all too well, and Tony had just proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had no idea how he felt. He could tell when Steve was nervous, when he was frustrated or happy, but he’d never noticed that he was in love with him. 

Either that, or he just didn’t care.

But no, that wasn’t fair to Tony. Steve knew that he wouldn’t ever be so thoughtlessly cruel to him, not intentionally. And it wasn’t as if Steve had even _wanted_ him to find out, had gone to great pains to hide it from him as a matter of fact. 

So why did he feel so devastated that he’d succeeded?

Maybe that was why he said what he did next, needing to get all the pain over with at once instead of experiencing it bit by bit, or maybe to prove that he could handle it. Maybe he just wanted to force a reaction from Tony. Maybe he needed to see for himself that Tony _wouldn’t_ react. Whatever the reason, he found himself saying, “I’ve changed my mind,” his voice shockingly level.

“What?” Tony asked, peering at him over his sunglasses, soda in hand, his relaxed tone completely at odds with his alarmed expression. “What do you mean?”

“I think I’d like some kisses after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to TRY to update once a week. Not necessarily on the same day or anything, but idk, every ten days or so. Wish me luck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. We had guests in town, and I couldn't get any writing done for days.

“Oh, well, kisses, _sure_ ,” Tony said after a brief pause, probably thinking Steve had finally agreed on the necessity of practicing before meeting his parents.

“I knew you’d see it my way. It’s hard to say no to all of _this_ ,” Tony said, waving at himself with a flourish, and Steve somehow managed to turn the twitch of his lips into a smile.

Watching Tony put down his unopened soda and lean into the empty seat between them, Steve had the strangest feeling of unreality, everything slightly flat and askew, Tony almost seeming to move in slow-motion as he came toward him. It didn’t help that Tony’s sunglasses were mirrored, so that Steve could see his reflection get larger and larger, becoming stretched and distorted the closer Tony got until Steve couldn’t bear to look anymore.

What was he _doing_?

Tony might think of this as just a harmless kiss, but Steve knew better. Hadn’t he sworn to himself that he wouldn’t let this wreck their friendship? Because it could. He could tell in the way he’d gone from thinking wistfully about Tony once or twice a week to thinking about him constantly, to letting hope creep insidiously through his heart that maybe by the end of the weekend, Tony would’ve come to realize that their fake relationship should be real. Steve _knew_ this was dangerous and he couldn’t—

He jerked at the feel of Tony’s breath against his face, eyes snapping back open as became aware that time hadn’t stopped while he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts. A cold hand clasped the back of his neck—it was the temperature that made him shiver; the temperature and nothing else—and chapped lips pressed lightly against his, Tony’s mustache and goatee rasping—

“Oh shit, sorry,” Tony said as he pulled back to glance down at his phone for the second time. “Damn. This one I really _do_ have to answer.”

“What?” Steve asked, lurching upright, grateful that his seatbelt had kept him from following Tony to his seat like he wanted. He blinked several times quickly and tried to settle his heart which had decided to speed up without his permission. He hadn’t even heard the phone ring. 

“That is to say, I really have to answer this one _too_ ,” Tony said and hastily put his phone to his ear. “Hey, Pep.”

His lips were _tingling_.

“No, I canceled that meeting. Didn’t you get my message?”

He licked them once, just to check, and didn’t know if he was imagining the faint sweetness—for all that Tony had apparently told his chef to make the creampuffs for Steve, Tony had eaten more than his fair share—or not. He realized he was still licking, chasing after that elusive taste, and he stopped, his cheeks getting hot.

“Don’t yell at me; I left a message! Yes, I did! At least . . . I was planning on leaving a message. Are you sure I didn’t leave a message?”

That had been such a bad idea. He’d known it was going to have to happen eventually, but still. _Such_ a bad idea.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. Like it’s such a hardship. Poor Pepper, stuck in a small, backwater town where she doesn’t even know the language—oh wait, it’s _Paris_ , you speak _French_ , and your ticket was _free_.”

How was he going to get through the weekend? If one chaste kiss was enough to affect him this much, how was he going to handle the next one or the one after that without giving away the truth? Especially when he _wanted_ more kisses from Tony. He wanted all of them. 

“I said the _ticket_ was free, the _ticket_. The corporate card is for corporate expenses, Pepper! You can’t just—Pepper? _Pepper_?” 

Tony frowned at his phone.

“So I take it that was Pepper?” Steve said, trying to keep his voice as light as possible, as if he weren't still struggling under a deluge of want and misery.

“In my defense, I really thought I _had_ told her. I mean, I _planned_ on telling her,” Tony said, looking put out, and Steve wondered if he'd already forgotten about the kiss, if it’d had so little impact on him that Tony had crossed it off his list of to-do items and moved on.

“I’m sure you did.”

“And if I’d known how expensive it would be to forget, I would’ve written it down on my hand or something. That woman is going to bankrupt me one day, I swear.”

“JARVIS didn’t tell her?”

“JARVIS can’t tell her something I didn’t tell him, and that conversation happened away from his inquisitive little ears.”

There was just the slightest hesitation in Tony’s answer, and Steve might have thought he’d imagined it, except there weren’t many occasions when Tony wasn’t doing business in his home or office or on his phone, and what could possibly keep him so occupied that he wouldn’t input a canceled meeting into his calendar if he were speaking to someone face-to-face?

Unless they were doing more than just talking. 

“Ah,” Steve said, because what else was there to say? What right did he have to be jealous? He didn’t. 

But oh, how he wanted to. 

“ _C'est la vie_ , I suppose,” Tony sighed, shrugging, and put his phone away. “Now where were we?” he asked, and crap, Steve guessed that meant Tony hadn’t forgotten about the kiss after all. He didn’t know whether to be more dismayed or irrationally encouraged by that fact.

“So who called the first time?” he asked, because the last thing he needed was more kisses in the confines of the car where it was too easy to get lost in them.

“Hmm? Oh, just someone from work. No big deal. Hey look, we’re almost there.”

“We are?” Steve said, and sure enough, they were getting off the freeway.

“If we had more time and I wanted to bore you to tears, I’d show you around, take you by my old haunts, point out where I nearly got arrested for indecent exposure one Christmas break, that sort of thing. My parents are expecting us for lunch, however, so consider yourself off the hook.”

“You nearly got arrested over Christmas break?”

“Totally a misunderstanding. It was gold spandex, but the dim light made it seem like I was naked.”

“But why were you wearing gold spandex?” Steve asked, and this was okay, this easy back and forth. This he could do, and he pushed all thoughts of the kiss to the back of his mind, knowing he’d have to face it eventually but unable to deal with it now.

“Long story. Suffice to say it was for an experiment, and let’s just leave it at that.”

“Are there—”

“There are no pictures.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you—”

“My parents don’t have any pictures either, Steve, so don’t think about asking them. And don’t bat those baby blues at me; they don’t work. They don’t. Stop looking at me like that. Seriously, stop it.”

They joked around until they pulled up to the gate of Tony’s parents’ home, at which point, Steve became more interested in looking around than in talking. 

“Just how much farther is it?” Steve asked after they’d been driving for almost ten minutes since passing through the gate and he still hadn’t seen the house.

“We’re rounding the bend right now.”

Steve wasn’t the type to get too intimidated by other people’s wealth, but he’d never encountered anyone as wealthy as Tony’s parents before. As he got his first glimpse of Tony’s childhood home, the word that stuck out in his head was “big.” “Huge” maybe. “Palatial” also fit, now that he thought about it.

“Wow,” he said as the car came to a stop.

“Yeah, home sweet home,” Tony said, his voice odd, but before Steve could ask him about it, Tony was opening his door.

The front door opened as Steve was getting out, and someone—it had to be Tony’s mother, Steve realized, as he got a better look—came out, her face wreathed in smiles. 

“Tony! You’re home!”

Steve smiled as the two of them hugged, keeping back until Tony waved him over.

“Let me introduce you to Steve, Mom. Mom, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, my mom, Maria Stark.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am," he said sincerely, looking into clear blue eyes. She was beautiful, tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth giving her character, blonde hair swept up elegantly and only slightly streaked with grey. Steve could see where Tony had gotten his smile, and it made him grin back at her helplessly. "Thank you for letting me visit you and your family.”

“Oh my, so polite! And handsome! Tony, you never mentioned he was so handsome,” she said while Steve ducked his head. “One of the _many_ things you never told us about actually.”

“You know me, Mom; I like to keep my cards close to my chest.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Yes, you’ve always been such a shy, retiring character. It’s all I could do to get you to say something polysyllabic some days.” 

She hugged Steve, the same glint of mischief in her eyes that Tony always had before he did something truly outrageous.

“My, you are a big one, aren’t you?”

“Mom, really,” Tony said as Steve flushed.

“Well, he is!” she said, patting Steve’s arm. “Look at these muscles! Tony went through a phase when he was younger when he tried to bulk up—”

“Oh, here we go.”

“—but it didn’t work out so well for him. He’d stand in front of the mirror every day, checking to see if—”

“You couldn’t wait to humiliate me until we at least stepped inside, could you?” Tony asked, bowing his head and rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“This is what happens when I don’t see you for months on end. I have to pack in as much I can in the time allotted to me. Speaking of which, must you, with the sunglasses? There’s hardly any sun right now, and they make you look like a degenerate.”

“Maybe I _want_ to look like a degenerate,” Tony muttered, slipping them off, and it was only when Steve could see his eyes that he realized just how long Tony had been wearing them. He’d brought his own pair, but with how overcast it was, he hadn’t bothered putting them on, especially not within the interior of the car where the windows were tinted. Tony, though, had worn his for the majority of the ride, and it made Steve wonder if it’d been tiredness that had led to him sitting in virtual darkness or if there’d been another reason behind it.

“There, much better,” Maria said, smiling approvingly. “Come on, let’s go inside where it’s more comfortable.” She laid her hand on Steve’s arm and started walking towards the door. “Steve, you must tell me all about yourself. Tony has been extremely unforthcoming, and it’s done nothing but whet my curiosity about you.” 

“What would you like to know, ma’am?” he asked, shooting a glance at Tony. “Although I should probably help—”

“Nonsense, Tony can bring in the luggage, can’t you, dear? You’re our guest, Steve, and besides, it’ll give Tony a chance to show off how strong he is now. And no more of this ‘ma’am’ business; call me Maria. As for what I would like to know about you, the answer is everything, of course! Why would I want to settle for anything less?”

He gave a quick overview of his life—he was a graphic designer, no brothers or sisters, his father had passed away when he was young but his mother was still alive—as Tony carted their bags inside by himself, although Steve noticed they didn’t stay in his hands long once Tony was past the door. 

“Thank you, Tony. You can just leave them down here for right now. The maids haven’t finished cleaning yet, and if the two of you go upstairs, they’ll probably get even less work done. Besides, your father was only running about five minutes behind you, so he should be here any second now. Why don’t I get you something to drink while we’re waiting? You must be parched after traveling all day.”

Tony’s father showed up just a couple of minutes later, and Steve was surprised to see that he walked with a cane. Tony had never mentioned it, although to be fair, Steve supposed it wasn’t really a topic that came up in casual conversation. 

“Sorry I’m late!” he called as he crossed the floor towards them. Steve noticed the limp didn’t seem to bother him much, Tony’s father appearing to put very little weight on the cane itself as he moved confidently forward. “There was an accident on the 405 that kept me idling in traffic forever. How are you doing, son?”

The hug Tony and his father shared was much more stilted than the one Tony had shared with his mother. Steve didn’t have much chance to wonder about it, however, before Tony was introducing him.

“Dad, Steve Rogers. Steve, Howard Stark.”

“Pleased to meet you, Steve,” Howard said, holding out his hand, and Steve could see where Tony got his coloring and build and preference for facial hair. 

“Thank you for having me, Sir,” Steve said, shaking hands.

“Just ‘Howard’ is fine. No need for formality here,” he said, tucking his cane under his arm so he could clap Steve on the shoulder before pulling away. “We’re glad you could make it. We were starting to think Tony had made you up!”

“I’m sorry?” he said, glancing at Tony as he stood next to him.

“Well, for the longest time, Tony wouldn’t tell us anything about you. Thank you, Maria,” Howard said, smiling fondly as she handed him a glass of mineral water. 

“He would say the most outlandish things every time we asked about you,” Maria said, squeezing Howard’s arm affectionately and laughing. “You were a spy, and he had to keep it all hush, hush for national security; you were from another planet, sent to the Earth to battle alien invaders; you were a super soldier, frozen in ice for decades and only recently revived. The list goes on and on. Really, Tony, you should’ve been a screen-writer, all these terrible movie characters. And the plots! I remember one time he said you two had gotten drunk in Las Vegas and had woken up married!” 

“With Elvis officiating the ceremony no less!” Howard said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey now, don’t knock the King,” Tony said, casually resting his hand on Steve’s lower back, although this was Tony touching him, so there was nothing casual about it.

“I thought you were kidding when you said you’d told them that,” Steve said, trying not to do anything ridiculous like tense up, or worse, pull him in close. 

“Why would I do that?”

“Why indeed?” Maria said, shaking her head. “At least we’ll get a chance to ask all the questions we want this weekend since you’re leaving Monday—”

“Sunday.”

“What was that, dear?” Maria asked, looking at Tony.

“We’re only here until tomorrow morning,” Tony said, scrunching up his face apologetically, although Steve knew he’d planned it that way on purpose. 

“But why would you come out all this way and not stay for your father’s party?”

“What do mean? We’ll be here for the party,” Tony said.

“Not if you leave in the morning. The party’s tomorrow night.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s tonight.”

“The party isn’t tonight.”

“Yes, it—you are an evil, evil woman,” Tony said, pointing at his mother accusingly. “You almost had me.”

“What do you mean ‘ _almost’_? You were completely fooled for a second there.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“And that’s my cue to get something stronger to drink,” Howard said, putting down his glass of water. “May I interest you in anything, Steve? This will take a while.”

“No, thank you, Howard,” Steve said, moving away from Tony reluctantly. Howard was watching him, however, and he knew it was expected of him. “Are they always like this?” 

“Pretty much,” Howard said, his eyes crinkling. “They enjoy joking at each other’s expense, and they love to argue.”

Steve heard Maria say, “I wouldn’t have been able to trick you if you called me more frequently.”

“I call you almost every other _day._ ” 

“A loving son would call _every_ day.” 

“So how long haveyou and Tony been dating, Steve? He never gives us a straight answer.”

“Not very long actually,” he said, turning his attention back to Howard. He wanted to keep to the truth as much as possible, and it’d only been a little more than twenty four hours since Tony had convinced him to abandon any and all sense of propriety by lying to his parents.

“Really?” Howard’s eyebrows went up and his gaze turned sharp. “Tony’s been mentioning you for a few months now, and he doesn’t typically bring people home. I would’ve thought you two had been together for longer.”

“Well, we’ve been friends for years, so it _feels_ like a lot longer; plus we’d been circling the whole relationship thing for a while,” Steve said, backpedaling, and why the hell was Tony over there talking to his mother? Field all the difficult questions, his ass. 

“Is that so?” Howard said, and he wasn’t so much looking at Steve as _boring his eyes_ through him. “When did you two meet?”

“A little over two years ago.” 

“And you just recently decided to make the transition from friends to partners. I see,” Howard said in a considering tone, and Steve wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think Howard had blinked for the last thirty seconds.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Steve said, smiling weakly, and when he realized how that sounded, he added, “Still does.”

“Are you two serious then?” Howard asked, and crap, what was he supposed to say? 

“I would say that we’re—”

“— _starving_ ,” Tony said, coming over and smooching his cheek loudly. It absolutely did _not_ get him reminiscing about their last kiss and how Tony’s facial hair had felt against his skin, or how much he wanted to experience that again; not at all.

“Or at least I am. I haven’t eaten anything since those cream puffs on the plane. What about you, pookie?”

“Uh,” Steve said intelligently, dizzy with relief and annoyance and the overwhelming awareness of Tony pressed against him. “Pookie?”

“Too much? I like it though! ‘Pookie’ just says ‘Steve’ to me.”

“Couldn’t ‘ _Steve’_ just say ‘Steve’ to you?” Steve asked, latching on to the change of subject gratefully.

“You obviously need to think bigger. Steve doesn’t like pet names,” Tony told his parents.

“I have nothing against pet names.”

“Steve _hates_ pet names. I’m determined to wear him down until I find something he likes.”

“I really don’t hate pet names,” he said to a smiling Maria.

“Oh yeah, _honey pot_?” Tony said, his voice smoldering.

Steve found himself inexplicably blushing.

“Okay, so maybe I don’t like _that_ one,” he mumbled, and he’d never been so glad to hear that it was time for lunch in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Lunch was a pretty quiet affair. At least for Steve. Tony was loud—although, when wasn’t he?—and he and Maria dominated the conversation from the get-go with Howard adding comments throughout and Steve chiming in occasionally where appropriate. 

There was no more mention of pet names or their relationship, thank goodness, just the normal chatter of family catching up with each other, even if it tended to get a little more technical than Steve was used to. He enjoyed listening to all of it, even the parts he didn’t quite understand, and by the time they had finished eating, it was almost three in the afternoon. 

“I’m going to take Steve down to the beach,” Tony said as they all got up. “I promised him a little skinny-dipping if he’d brave the wilds of Malibu, and it’ll be too crowded later on.”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said, and that was all, because there was so much he could and _should_ say, but it was all encapsulated in that one word.

“That’s my name,” Tony said, shooting finger guns at him. “Don’t wear it out.”

“I am so sorry,” Steve said to Maria and Howard, and they both laughed.

“Shouldn’t we be saying that to you?” Maria asked. “Go on, you two. It’ll be good for you to stretch your legs.”

“Just stop by before the party,” Howard said, looking at Tony. “There’s something I wanted to show you.”

“Sure, Dad.” Tony smiled, a little too wide almost, and said, “I’ll come find you.” 

Steve waited until they were walking down the path to the beach before saying lightly, “Well, this isn’t exactly walking barefoot through the tide in our tuxes, but it’ll do.”

“Hmph, like you would’ve really let me drag you out here once you found out how much the tux cost!” Tony said, rolling his eyes.

“How much _did_ it cost?” 

“Oh look, is that a whale?”

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually,” Steve warned.

“Hush, you,” Tony said, reaching out to clasp hands, letting them swing gently between them. And Steve _knew_ that it was just because they were in sight of the house, but he found himself squeezing Tony’s hand, memorizing the feel of their fingers entwined together.

“Seriously, Steve, your fixation on material goods is frankly a little disturbing.”

He gave Tony a long-suffering glance. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were only with me for my money. Obviously, the rest of the package is a big bonus,” Tony said with a wink, “but go ahead, admit that you’re in it for the wealth.”

“Tony,” Steve said, patting his hand, “there isn’t enough money in the entire _world_ to make me be with you if I didn’t want to.” 

“Is it weird that I find that sweet and yet incredibly insulting on many levels? Whatever. Just remember that it’s my sparkling personality and not my deep pockets that attracts you to me in case my dad pulls you aside and offers you an obscenely large check to leave me.”

“He wouldn’t really do that, would he?” Steve asked, disturbed.

“Nah. Not assuming you passed the background check anyway. Besides, logistically, it doesn’t work. Why would you pay for the cow when you can get milk for free? I’ll eventually make tons more money than anything my father would give you. It’s just smart economics to stay with me. Unless he offers you like, a billion. In which case, you should take it, and we’ll split it fifty-fifty.”

“I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it. All of it.”

“Don’t worry, Steve, I can believe enough for both of us. So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About the _beach_ , about the _view_ ,” Tony said, letting go of Steve’s hand—and Steve told himself he didn’t feel colder at the loss—in order to stand in front of him, his arms spread out at his sides. “Did I deliver, or did I deliver?”

“Oh, you mean about the gorgeous beaches?”

“Yes!”

“Hmm, it’s okay, I guess,” Steve said, looking around at the spectacular landscape that had been shielded by bluffs up until that point. With the sun hidden behind the clouds, it gave the beach a lonely quality, the pristine sand in various shades of gray, the waves crashing repeatedly against the shore. It was lovely but empty, nothing but a few seagulls in sight, and it made him want to hold Tony close, just for the comfort of knowing he was there.

But then, he always wanted to hold Tony close.

“It’s okay,” Tony said flatly, letting his arms drop.

“Yeah, it’s . . . it’s nice,” he said, shoving down his feelings and smiling innocently, because he knew it’d rile Tony up.

“ _Nice_. Steve, thank you cards are nice. Holding the door open for someone is nice. This beach is a few million dollars’ worth of _amazing_.”

“It’s pretty,” he agreed mildly.

“It’s like I don’t even know who you are sometimes,” Tony said and turned around, kicking off his shoes.

“Are you even going to be able to find that shoe later?” Steve asked as he watched one fly into a clump of tall grass before rolling down a hill.

“Possibly. I make no promises,” Tony said as he dropped his socks on the ground and started rolling up his jeans.

“You can’t really be thinking of walking on the beach barefoot, can you? I mean, sure, it’s not freezing, but it’s not exactly warm either.”

“Whatever, we’re tough. Cold feet never killed anybody.” Tony tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “Except for the people it did.”

“Ha ha. And what do you mean ‘ _we’re_ tough’? I’m not crazy enough to walk through cold sand in the middle of winter.”

“Pfft, Malibu winters don’t count! And it’ll be months before you get a chance like this on the east coast. C’mon, Steve,” he said, batting his eyelashes imploringly. “Walk with me.”

Steve looked down at his hopeful, manipulative, _annoying_ face and let out a long sigh of defeat. “You’re not going to give up until I agree, are you?”

“Nope.” 

He pointed at Tony. “I’m holding onto my shoes in case I feel frostbite coming on. You have to bring your shoes too.”

Tony glanced in the direction his shoe had disappeared in. “Um . . . okay, fine, deal!”

He stood there for another few seconds in the spirit of too-little-too-late defiance before crouching down. “One day, I’m going to say no and mean it.” 

“But that day is not today!” Tony said happily, and Steve swiped at Tony’s hand when he tried to tousle his hair in passing.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he said after he’d rolled up his pants mid-calf, shoes hanging from his fingertips, his socks wedged inside. 

Tony grinned and set off at a brisk pace, but he didn’t say anything until they were close to the shoreline.

“Okay, we should be safe out here this close to the water. So what do you think? Are they buying it?” Tony asked. 

“I have no idea,” Steve said, shivering a little. Tony might not be bothered by the temperature of the sand against his bare skin, but he was definitely noticing it. “Your parents seem really great, though, and I feel horrible for tricking them. Why can’t we just—”

“That’s all a ploy, Steve!” Tony said, throwing his hands up. “I can’t believe you fell for it! They’re on their best behavior, but that’s because they’re trying to _lure_ you in, give you a false sense of security. As soon as you relax your defenses, _bam_! They dive in for the kill!”

Steve looked at him skeptically.

“ _Really_! My parents eat babies for breakfast! _Babies_ for _breakfast_!”

His eyebrows rose higher.

“For lunch? Dinner? Afternoon tea maybe? You’re so suspicious, Steve,” Tony said sulkily.

“ _I’m_ suspicious? You’re paranoid that your parents are listening in on our _conversations_ —”

“Steve, Steve,” Tony said, coming to a stop in the sand. “Sweet, naïve Steve. It’s not paranoia if it’s true.”

Tony looked so calm that Steve faltered. “Really?”

“It’s a big house. Intercom systems only work if you push buttons, and sometimes, you’re in the middle of an experiment, recovering from an experiment, trying to contain the damage from an experiment, who knows, and you can’t reach the button. After the fire department came out for the twelfth time, we figured out a better system. Baby JARVIS. Or like, JARVIS’ ancestor or something. And while I’m not one hundred percent sure they moved it into the family cars, I’m not one hundred percent sure they didn’t either. Anyway, never talk about the boyfriend thing unless I initiate the conversation. I should’ve told you before, but I’m so used to it that I forgot."

"Wow."

"Yup."

"This explains so much about you."

Tony stuck out his tongue at him. "Very funny. So really, how do you think it’s going?"

"I don't know,” he said, walking forward again. “Before lunch, your dad was asking a lot of questions. I answered them the best that I could, but I don't know if I helped or hurt the cause more. I thought you were going to field all the hard questions?"

"My parents have been a team for a long time. I admit, I was outmaneuvered. Divide and conquer and all that jazz. Still, I’m not worried too much. He would've said something if he _really_ thought we were lying.”

“I still don’t understand why it matters if you’re dating someone or not.”

“They think I’m too flighty,” Tony said, clearly offended. “That I spend too much time in my head instead of focusing on what _they_ think is important. They’d have me married with three kids right now if they could. Okay, maybe not three. One, though. I bet they'd be thrilled with one. In lieu of that, however, they’ll settle for a deeply committed relationship with someone diligent and hard-working and respectable. Trust me, my parents were drooling into their salad plates over you.” 

"Oh," Steve said, because he wasn't sure he disagreed with them. Not the kids, of course, but he thought Tony would probably be happier if he had someone to ground him; someone to pull him away from work and take his mind off things; someone who loved Tony the way he deserved to be loved. Someone like him.

"Uh oh," Tony said, pasting on a smile. "Don't look now, but I think I see my mom on the balcony, hiding a little behind a potted plant."

"Why are you smiling like that? There's no way she can see our faces—"

"Are you sure, Steve? Are you _really_ sure? Because I wouldn't put it past her to have binoculars or something, and okay, don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out about what? Tony? Tony, wait,” Steve said as Tony closed the distance between them, and he had the odd urge to run.

“Why are you walking faster?” Tony hissed, his expression never wavering.

“Why are you getting closer? What are you planning to do?” 

“I just want to make out a little bit, calm down,” Tony said, lengthening his stride.

Steve sped up to compensate. He certainly did _not_ want to make out, not when a simple kiss had almost knocked him on his ass, and he most _definitely_ did not want to in front of Tony’s mother. “Calm down? That is—Tony, that is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Hey now, no need to be insulting.”

He ignored him. “I thought you _didn’t_ want your parents to find out. Your mom comes out and suddenly we’re attached at the lips? Like that’s not fishy at all!”

“It’s not as bad as me chasing you around! Will you slow down already?” Tony said, but there was a real smile tugging at his lips instead of the fake one he’d had on for Maria’s benefit, and Steve found himself grinning back.

“What? You’re admitting that you can’t keep up?” He broke into a jog.

“What?” Tony picked up his pace as well, and suddenly, the both of them were running full-out. “Some of us have office jobs, you know—”

“I have an office job!” he objected, jumping over some driftwood. 

“Office job, my ass; you’re a volunteer firefighter on the weekend!”

“Not every weekend.”

“Most weekends!” 

“Weren’t you telling me a few weeks ago that you were going to the gym every day?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I work out! I mostly go to get away from Pepper for an hour. You have no idea what a slave driver she can be!”

“Then all this exercise will be good for you!” Steve told him, dodging around a bed of shells. He should never have let Tony convince him to take off his shoes. Of course, in the long line of things he should never have let Tony convince him to do, taking off his shoes wasn’t really that high on the list, but he supposed he had to start making a stand somewhere.

Both of them stopped talking as they got absorbed in the chase, and Steve found himself grinning maniacally as he went around or over debris, skirting the water sometimes in the hopes that Tony would get sprayed, or even possibly trip in the crumbling sand and get doused. Sure, it was cold, but the house was right there after all.

Eventually, however, Tony started falling back, panting for breath, and alright, apparently Tony really was in much worse shape than he’d thought.

Tony gradually came to a stop, hands on his knees as he sucked in air, and Steve jogged back to him, his point proven, only to realize his mistake when Tony glanced up at him when he was a few feet away. That was not the look of a man straining to recover from a run.

It was, however, the look of a man who had no qualms about tackling someone else to the ground once he was in reach.

“You always were too trusting for your own good,” Tony said, laughing, and Steve didn’t know if it was the impact that had knocked his breath right out of him or the sight of Tony above him, triumphant and happy and too pleased with himself by half.

“Tony,” he said, although it came out more like a gasp. It was unfair how good Tony felt, the strength of his body, the weight; Tony was almost hot against his chilled skin, the contrast between him and the cold sand against Steve’s back making him shiver, and he wanted to pull him in harder, wanted to wrap Tony around himself and never let go. 

Except he couldn’t. He didn’t have that right, and he had to keep reminding himself of that fact, no matter how much it tore his heart into pieces to do so.

He said Tony’s name again, intending to get him talking, intending to stop him, but it was too late. Tony was already bending down, and Steve couldn’t force himself to turn away. 

It started off the same way their first kiss had, mouths closed, lips pressed softly together. Tony’s fingers threaded through his hair, tilting his head, and he wanted this. Fuck, he wanted this so much.

Tony interspersed several slow kisses with little brushes of his mouth over Steve’s cheeks, his jaw, his neck, so light that they were almost innocent, would have been except for the way they branded Tony’s touch into his skin until he could feel each one long after Tony had moved on.

“This okay?” Tony whispered against his ear belatedly, and a distant part of Steve wondered why he bothered to ask, wondered if he could feel the tiny shivers that each caress elicited. 

But all he said was “Yes,” because it didn’t matter; not that it was crumbling his resolve, not that he knew he wasn’t going to recover from this, not that Tony might find out. All Steve cared about at that point was making sure the kisses didn’t stop.

And they didn’t. Not for a long time, and Steve couldn’t remember later when they changed, went from innocent to dirty with tongues and teeth, and hands clutching at each other hard enough to hurt, the pain a little something like victory.

He would always recall with crystal clear precision, however, the look on Tony’s face when he finally pulled back, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes filled with a dazed and terrible certainty.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony said, and there was too much in his voice, too much knowledge, too much confusion, and Steve didn’t know how he was supposed to face any of it.

“I—” He swallowed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before reopening them. “Do you—I’d like to sit up, please,” he said, low and scratchy.

“Shit—I can—yeah,” Tony scrambled up, pushing himself off of him and landing with a grunt on the sand. 

Steve rolled up into a sitting position, horribly conscious of the sand in his hair, down his shirt, of the multitude of impressions from Tony’s fingers and mouth that he could still feel. He wanted to curl up in on himself and hide, delay the inevitable for that much longer. 

He didn’t do it. But oh, how he wished he could.

“I’m sorry,” he said, needing to get it out, although he couldn’t even say what he was apologizing for. Kissing Tony? Falling in love with him? Hiding the truth? All of that and more?

“You're _sorry_?” Tony repeated dumbly, eyebrows furrowing as his gaze darted all over Steve’s face, as if he could discover everything he needed to know somehow in Steve’s expression. The idea that he could, that Tony could see all the guilt and shame laid bare, made Steve falter, and his eyes dropped away. 

They came back up quickly when Tony started to stand, and he said “Tony, wait!” reaching out to keep him from leaving. He let his hand drop, however, when Tony jerked back, something flashing across his face that Steve couldn’t decipher, too wrapped up in the pain of his rejection. 

“I can’t . . .” Tony held his palm out, warding him off, not even looking in his direction as he took one step back and then another. “I have to . . .” He dug his hand into his pocket. “Phone. I have to get this,” he said, his cell ringing a second later. “I have to—” 

Tony turned and walked off, almost running, and he left him there on the sand, never looking back.

\-----

"Peggy," he said as soon as she picked up, because who else was he going to call? She had always understood him the best, even more than he understood himself sometimes. "I screwed up."

"Steve? What are you—aren’t you in LA this weekend? What happened?"

“I kissed Tony,” he said, and even to his own ears, he sounded brokenhearted.

“You _what_?” she asked, shocked. She knew how he felt about Tony and had tried to get him to say as much to him several times. “Did he . . . oh no, Steve, what did he—”

“He . . .” Steve rubbed his hand over his mouth, knowing he’d have to tell her everything. “First, I should probably admit that I may not have been completely open about why Tony asked me to come to LA.”

There was a long pause. 

“Steve Rogers, what did you do?” she asked, clipped and precise, and with a feeling close to relief, he told her.

She was cursing before he had even finished, and he winced, holding his phone away from his ear. “You are the most idiotic, insane, _masochistic_ man to ever walk the earth! If I were there right now, I would beat you _both_ for—” 

She broke off, the sudden silence charged with disappointment and frustration, and he kept quiet, wrapping his free arm around his knees and pulling them tighter against his chest as he stared off into the water.

“Alright. What’s done is done. I thought you said _you_ kissed _him_ though?”

“I did. It started with him kissing me, but by the end . . . he knows, Peggy.”

“Are you sure?”

He thought again of the certainty in Tony’s eyes when they’d separated. “Yes.” 

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t—he left. He was . . . we were on the ground,” he admitted, flushing, “and I asked him to let me up, and then he left.”

“He _left_ you on the _ground_?” she asked in a voice like a growl, and oh shit, he was going to get Tony killed at this rate.

“We weren’t—we were just kissing!” he said, stumbling over himself to explain. “It wasn’t—and he got a phone call! He had to—it was a little strange, honestly, but I think he wanted to—”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not _defending_ him! There’s nothing to defend! This was my fault, and—”

“Stop that right now! Only _Tony_ would come up with a crazy scheme like this, and no one in their right _mind_ leaves a friend on the—”

“It wasn’t like that! You didn’t see his expression, Peggy! He looked—”

“I don’t care what he looked like!”

“—so hurt,” Steve said slowly, finally recognizing the emotion that had flickered over Tony’s face right before he’d taken off.

There was a long silence.

Then, “Tell me everything both of you said. Do not leave a single word out.”

It was hard to relive the whole experience, and this time with an audience to make things worse. By the end, he was kicking himself with all the things he should’ve done differently.

“Let me get this straight. You kissed. For apparently a long time, neither of you stopping. And then you _apologized_?”

“Of course I did!” he said, getting up to pace, needing to work off some of his restless energy. “I agreed to come to LA under false pretenses and then took advantage of the circumstances to—”

“I would hardly call it taking advantage when he was the one who started things! Now, you told me that Tony knows how you feel, but did you actually come out and tell him you loved him?”

“No, but—” 

“Then he doesn’t. Maybe he suspected. _Maybe_. But, Steve, if someone kissed me within an inch of my life and then acted ashamed and apologized for it, I might think he was drunk, or cheating on his girlfriend, or sublimating his feelings for someone else, but the very _last_ thing I would think was that he was in love with me.”

“That’s not . . .” Steve’s stomach sank somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. 

“Do not even _think_ of blaming yourself. It was an honest mistake, honestly meant, and most importantly, it’s fixable. _Talk_ to him. He kissed you back and was upset when he thought you just got carried away in the moment. That’s not someone who doesn’t care.”

They didn’t say much more before she hung up, but he barely even noticed, his thoughts tumbling around on top of each other. He hated the idea that he’d hurt Tony, but the realization that he _could_ made his palms sweaty and made him feel like an elephant was trying to sit on his chest.

What if Tony _did_ care about him? As more than a friend. What if Tony was willing to give them a chance?

The elephant was suddenly joined by a herd of its friends, and Steve wondered how he was going to make it back to the house by himself, nerves and so much hope flooding through him that he stumbled in the sand.

It seemed to take forever, but he finally reached the patio door when he realized he’d left his shoes back on the beach. He couldn’t walk through Tony’s parents’ house in sandy feet, not even if Tony had already done it, because come to think of it, Tony’s shoes were still out there as well. Damn it.

The second time he made it to the patio door, he brushed all the sand he could reach off his clothes, jumping up and down a little and hoping that it wasn’t one of the times either Howard or Maria were watching. He knocked his and Tony’s shoes together before stepping inside and set out on a hunt to either find Tony or find someone who could point him in the right direction.

He’d just rounded his fifth corner and decided that he had absolutely no idea where he was when he heard shouting.

“—for the last time, that has nothing to do with it!” 

That was Howard yelling.

“I already told you I’m not going to—”

And Tony.

“It’s fine to strike out on your own, but don’t you think it’s time to come back to the family business—”

“Why? So you can tell me my ideas aren’t good enough—”

“I never said you weren’t good enough!” Howard roared.

“You never said I _was_ either!”

There was a bang—a door slamming—and then the voices became angry buzzing.

He stood there, frozen for a second, and then he heard, “Steve, dear, you’re so sandy!”

He jerked around to see Maria a few feet away, and he could feel his face heating up at being caught eavesdropping. 

“I was . . . I was looking for Tony,” he said feebly, and she smiled and came forward to take his arm, leading him down the hallway.

“Tony’s a little busy, I’m afraid. Why don’t I take you to your room so you can freshen up?”

Steve wracked his brain for something to break the awkward silence, but Maria was the one to speak first.

“I was very young when I married Howard.”

He glanced at her, but she kept her eyes forward.

“I got pregnant right away, as was expected back in those days, but I didn’t really know what to do with a baby—I was still a child myself almost—and so we hired a nanny to take care of Tony. Howard’s job was such that he frequently had to go out of the country for weeks at a time. He wanted me with him, and I wanted to go. I’d been very sheltered growing up, and the Stark name opened doors to me that I hadn’t even known existed.” 

They climbed the staircase in silence and turned right, stopping in front of an open door. Steve could see his bag resting against the bedframe. There was no sign of Tony’s things anywhere.

“Tony was too young to accompany us, so he stayed home. I would lavish all my attention on him when we were here to make up for the time apart, but I still went on trip after trip, too drunk with freedom to be chained down by my responsibilities,” she said, and Steve could hear the self-recrimination in her voice.

“Howard hadn’t had any experience with children prior to becoming a father, and he never knew how to interact with Tony. He’d get frustrated when Tony didn’t act like an adult, and he’d use his work as an excuse to hide away. They grew to be two strangers that happened to live together, barely talking to each other even when they were in the same room.”

Her fingers clenched on his arm and she pulled away.

“Then the accident happened. Did Tony tell you about it?”

He shook his head mutely.

“Tony was thirteen. Howard and I were headed to some function or another, I don’t even remember where now, and our car crashed. I walked away with a broken arm and some lacerations. Howard’s injuries were more serious.”

She rubbed her forearm absently.

“It was a wakeup call for the both of us. We realized how much we stood to lose. How much we already _were_ losing. And for Howard, it made him think about the legacy he was leaving behind, and how all his wealth didn’t matter when his son didn’t want to visit him in the hospital. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Tony was terrified when he heard the news about the accident, but once he found out Howard was going to pull through, he stopped coming by so frequently, and it eventually petered out to the occasional visit when someone else forced him along. Howard spent months recovering, and when he finally was well enough to be cared for at home, he tried to bridge the gap between them. It’s very hard, however, to make up for a lifetime’s worth of neglect, especially when the person you’re trying to make it up _to_ thinks you’re only doing it because you’re damaged now and so you’re pinning your hopes on second best.”

“Tony doesn’t—”

“I know that everything will eventually work out, even if the road is bumpier in some patches than in others,” she said, looking at him at last, and he could _see_ the shadows in her eyes settling into the background. “Still, I must admit that it makes me so happy that Tony found you, Steve. It’s obvious that he thinks the world of you, and you of him.”

He swallowed, understanding that he was speaking to a mother looking for assurance that her child was being taken care of. He couldn’t help but give it her.

“I love him very much,” he said hoarsely.

“Of course you do. How could anyone _not_ love Tony? He deserves it so very, very much,” she said, eyelashes fluttering like she was blinking back tears. “But look at me, carrying on when you’re tired and in need of a rest.” 

She straightened, the melancholy air of just a second ago disappearing. 

“I’ll let you get ready. There’ll be drinks and mingling starting at six, although you don’t have to go to any of that—it’ll be dreadfully dull for the most part; Howard insisted I invite his work associates sadly—and dinner will be at seven thirty. Have fun tonight, dear. Tony will be in a bit of a sulk for a while, but don’t put up with his temper. It _is_ a party after all. And make sure he takes you out on the floor for dancing. We spent thousands on dancing lessons and _someone_ should benefit.” 

Maria closed the door before he could respond, for which he was grateful since he didn’t know what _to_ say. He understood a lot better, though, why Tony’s parents were so invested in whether or not he was in a relationship—whether or not he was happy and being loved—and his heart ached to think of a young Tony, playing by himself and waiting for his parents to come home once again.

It made him that much more anxious to speak to Tony, but he hadn’t thought to ask Maria which room he was in, and going around opening doors didn’t seem like the best idea. In all likelihood, Tony and Howard hadn’t even finished talking, and while Steve would’ve liked to be able to give Tony all the support he could, he knew Tony wouldn’t want him to see or hear any of it.

It didn’t leave him with many options, and he finally decided to get cleaned up, even though it seemed so trivial compared to everything else that was going on. He knew he had to do it eventually, however, if he didn’t want to embarrass Tony and his family at the party, and it would be one less thing to worry about when he finally _did_ find Tony. 

If nothing else, he knew that Tony had to drop off his tux, and Steve promised himself that the next time they saw each other, he wouldn’t make any mistakes. He wouldn’t let Tony avoid the subject or run away from him, wouldn’t assume he knew more about how Tony felt about him than Tony did. He’d simply tell him the truth and let Tony decide for himself what he wanted, and in the meantime, he’d hope like hell that what Tony wanted was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just one or two chapters more to go. I was hoping to have this all wrapped up by the end of June, but we're getting ready to move, so it might take a little longer to finish than I thought.
> 
> Also, I think the first Iron Man movie has the car accident happening when Tony was 18, but I changed it to 13 to suit this story. He would've gone to college at 15.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought this was going to be the last chapter. I really did. I mean it's like twice as long as my normal chapters, but it just. Wouldn't. End. One more chapter to go. ONE MORE. (And I will try to get in some porn, jennagrins, but idk. Argh, this story. *shakes fist*)

Steve made his way down the staircase toward the party—alone, because Tony had never shown up. 

He’d actually given in and started peeking into bedrooms when four thirty had rolled around and there’d still been no sign of Tony. There were a lot of rooms in the mansion, however, and a maid had found him before he’d hit more than five of them. She’d had his tux, still in its garment bag, draped over her arm, and while she hadn’t said anything about him wandering the halls, he’d felt sheepish enough to go meekly back to his room. He _had_ asked where Tony was, but the answer had done him no good since Tony had left the house right after foisting the tux on her.

“He’s gone?” Steve had asked blankly, feeling abandoned, even though he knew it wasn’t like Tony would fly to New York without him. “But when is he coming back?”

“I don’t know, sir. Would you like me to ring the car phone for you?”

“No, that’s . . . I have his cell number. Thank you,” he’d added belatedly, and she’d smiled distractedly before going back to whatever it was she’d been doing before Tony had press-ganged her into running his errands.

He hadn’t called, because he’d understood that Tony had probably been looking for some space and time alone, justifiably so, but it’d left Steve not knowing what to do. Did he wait for Tony to come get him? Did he go down by himself? After thirty minutes of flipping television channels, he’d finally decided to head down and hopefully find Tony during the festivities. He was still a guest in Maria and Howard’s home after all, and he wasn’t going to hole himself up in his room when they were celebrating Howard’s birthday.

There were _a lot_ of people down there, though, goodness. And a fair number of them were watching him descend the stairs, which, now that he thought about it, he should’ve gone down the back and entered the front door like all the other guests were doing instead of having what Tony would’ve called a Scarlett O’Hara moment.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back up and try again.

“There you are, Steve!” he heard, and he whipped his head around to take in Tony waiting for him at the bottom, looking effortlessly dashing in his tux and smiling cockily up at him. It gave more weight to the Scarlett O’Hara feeling than he would’ve liked.

“Where _were_ you?” he asked, grateful to have something to concentrate on instead of all the curious onlookers, although honestly, everyone else had kind of faded into the background once he'd seen Tony.

“Sorry, just had to take the convertible out for a spin. There’s nothing like having the top down and letting the breeze flow through my hair,” Tony said, tossing his head back like a bad actor in a semi-pornographic shampoo commercial. “And before you ask, it’s different in California. The New York breeze just doesn’t cut it.” 

Tony hooked arms with him, guiding him out into the throng, easy and comfortable like nothing had ever happened.

Steve was disappointed but not surprised. He’d been around Tony long enough to know Tony had elevated avoidance to an art form, and he’d already figured out that it’d be up to him to make the next move if he didn’t want this chance to slip through his fingers. Which he didn’t. Tony could pretend all he wanted, but those kisses would always be out there, their elephant in the room.

Things were going to change, one way or another, and Steve knew which way _he_ wanted things to develop. Now it was just a matter of getting Tony to choose as well, and he’d be damned if he was going to go down without a fight. 

“I would’ve gone with you,” Steve said quietly, hesitating a moment before sliding his arm down so he could take Tony’s hand. 

“Would you have?” Tony asked, glancing at his face and then at their joined hands. 

Steve took a measure of courage out of the fact that Tony didn’t pull away, even if he was just playing the part of the dutiful boyfriend for his parents and their friends. He opened his mouth to say, “Yes, always,” but Tony beat him to the punch.

“I thought I’d give you a chance to relax and get ready. I mean, let’s be honest. You need all the beauty sleep you can get,” Tony said with a sad, pitying look.

“What are you implying?” Steve said, ignoring the flash of hurt his words inspired. They teased each other all the time, had said that and worse on several occasions. There was no reason to be overly sensitive to what Tony had said, especially since he knew Tony would never say something like that maliciously.

“All I’m saying is that _some_ people need help, while some _other_ people look effortlessly gorgeous all the time.”

“You _do_ look very handsome,” Steve agreed, his stomach tensing with nerves.

“I . . . well, sure,” Tony said, clearly caught off-guard. “That’s what—that’s what I’m saying. People _wish_ they could look this good, but they are doomed for disappointment because—oh hey,” he said, so much relief in his voice that Steve would’ve mocked him for it at any other time. “Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. Erik, you ass, what are you doing here? I thought they kicked you out of California!”

For almost the next hour, Tony introduced him around, never giving him the chance to say anything in private before he was planted in front of someone new. It was _extremely_ frustrating, and the only thing that made it bearable was the warmth of Tony’s hand in his. 

Not that Tony didn’t try to let go, but Steve wasn’t having any of it. Each time Tony started to withdraw, he’d squeeze his fingers and cling so that unless Tony wanted to make a scene by jerking away, he’d have to stay exactly where he was. Which he did, time and time again, until Tony stopped even trying to pull away and started stroking his thumb over Steve’s skin instead.

Steve would’ve sworn Tony wasn’t aware that he was doing it, but _he_ was conscious of each caress, light enough to make him shiver, although perhaps it was just the effect Tony had on him. 

It had to _mean_ something, didn’t it, that Tony would touch him like that? That Tony had kissed him back? They couldn’t be thoughtless responses that would’ve happened regardless of who Tony was with. 

Could they? 

Steve’s thoughts churned, round and round, doubt and hope chasing each other in endless circles as he dissected each word Tony had said, each touch he’d given him. If only he could figure out what Tony was thinking—if only he could _ask_ him—but he knew Tony was keeping them occupied with small talk on purpose, and he tried to bide his time. 

Even if they didn't discuss anything tonight, they still had a six hour trip back where the only way Tony could escape was if he jumped out of the plane—not that Steve was totally willing to put it past him. And if by some masterful feat of evasion, Tony _did_ manage to weasel his way out of talking during that time, they had the next day and the day after that, and there was no way that Tony could avoid it forever.

But what if he did? What if he kept pushing Steve off until he finally gave up? Not that he _would_ give up, not unless it turned out that Tony didn't want him—

What if this was Tony's way of telling him he didn't want him?

Steve knew that he’d barely participated in the past two conversations, but he couldn't help it. He was starting to feel so wound up that he couldn't focus on anything except all the what-ifs. It didn’t help that it felt like everyone was looking at him in exactly the same way, politely curious but ultimately dismissive, as if they were talking to him for Tony’s sake, but they never expected to see him again. As if they knew something he didn’t.

He could feel himself getting irrationally angry because of it, and it didn’t matter that he told himself he was imagining things; his emotions were too close to the surface to contain. He just—he needed to _know_ how things were going to fall out, for good or for bad, and each second that passed without that happening was torture. It seemed impossible now that he'd gone over a whole year loving Tony behind his back, resigned to his fate, when he was already ready to tear out his hair after a few hours because he hadn’t had the chance to tell Tony how he felt. He couldn’t wait anymore. It seemed like his whole life was balancing on a precipice, and no matter how melodramatic that was, he couldn’t change his conviction that it had be _now_.

"I'm sorry," he said, rudely interrupting the person speaking—he couldn’t even remember the man’s name—and not even caring. "I forgot something in my room. Will you excuse us?"

He didn't wait for a response before he was dragging Tony along behind him, Tony saying by way of explanation, "He has a horrible sense of direction. He’s lucky if he even remembers his room is on the second floor—" 

He tuned out the rest in his search for someplace relatively private. Ideally, he’d be able to take Tony to his room, but that would mean braving the staircase once again and leaving in the middle of Howard’s party, and the latter was unacceptable. Steve ended up dragging Tony out through the first set of open doors he could find. There were two more couples out on the balcony, but they were both on the far end. As long as he kept them to the side of the door, they should be fine, the noise from the party covering their voices. 

"What is with you?" Tony demanded, his face stormy, although Steve knew he couldn’t really be upset about the way they’d taken their leave. Tony could care less about what people thought of him most of the time, so that meant he was angry with Steve himself, although Steve forced himself not to wonder why.

“I need to talk to you.”

“And you couldn’t wait five minutes?”

“I’ve been waiting for hours!” Steve said, grabbing Tony by the arms. “Every time I think I’m going to have the opportunity to say something, you’re gone or there’s another person who you’re just dying to introduce me to—”

“So what, this is all my fault?” Tony asked, sneering.

“I didn’t say that! It’s not your fault, it’s not—” He looked at Tony imploringly. “I don’t want to argue. That’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about then?”

“It’s about _us_. I know you don’t—” He stopped, remembering his vow to not assume he knew what Tony wanted. 

“I don’t what?” Tony asked, his eyes narrowing.

He stared down at Tony and was so tempted to kiss him. Because he wanted to; because he needed to remember that Tony had kissed him back once; because he might not ever get to do it again. 

He didn’t, however, because the first time had been an accident, but he didn’t have that excuse this time around.

"I love you," Steve told him instead, the words jumbling together in his rush. “I’ve loved you for so long that I can’t imagine not loving you anymore. And I—” He took a deep breath, clutching onto Tony’s arms for dear life. “I just wanted to know if you could—maybe one day—if you could—” 

And that was when everyone was called to dinner.

\-----

They weren’t seated together. After everything else that had happened, Steve didn’t know why that fact disappointed him so much, but it did. He could _see_ Tony—five seats down and across the table from him—he just couldn’t talk to him.

Apparently, Tony couldn't see _him_ , however, because he hadn't so much as looked in his direction once since they'd sat down. Steve knew this, because he hadn't looked _away_ from Tony in all that time either.

Dinner passed by in a crawl, marked by food he barely tasted and small talk that he forgot as soon as it passed through his lips. He should’ve just kept Tony pinned to the wall until he’d said something, never mind that he was the only child of the hostess and the person whom the party was being thrown in honor of. He should’ve waited until everything was over so he wouldn’t be waiting now. He should’ve—not _not_ tell Tony, not that, but he should’ve—

He realized he was staring forlornly at Tony when the waiter came to take his plate, his “Excuse me, are you fin—um, are you alright?” making Steve jump.

“I’m fine,” he said hastily, pushing his chair back. His napkin fell to the ground as he stood. “I’ll just . . . I’ll be right back,” he said and then wondered why he’d even bothered since the waiter wasn’t going to care. He didn’t even know him. The only person who _did_ know him was currently ignoring him after Steve had admitted he loved him, and damn it, when had he started feeling so sorry for himself?

He headed back to his room, just needing a minute before the cake was brought out and he had to pretend to be happy.

No, not pretend. He _was_ happy. There were so many good things in his life, his friends, his job, his volunteer work. And Tony. Tony was his best friend. Even if they never became more than that—and he wasn’t going to be pessimistic and assume anything just because Tony hadn’t responded yet and was ignoring him; he wasn’t—their friendship wouldn’t disappear. He’d make sure that—

He would—

He—

Steve sat on his bed and buried his face in his hands.

“I literally have no idea what to say to you right now.”

His head snapped up so fast his neck ached. “Tony?” 

“Seriously, who does that?” Tony asked, closing the bedroom door and standing in front of it, his hands in his pockets. “Who says I lo—who _says_ that in the middle of a crowded party, completely out of the blue like that?”

“Tony,” he said again, his voice breaking.

“I still haven’t figured out if you were just carried away by the moment, or if you’re serious, or if—”

“I love you,” Steve said, his heart aching with it. “I do.”

Tony bit his lip, worrying at it as he looked at Steve, his eyebrows scrunched down. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and then, “Okay, hold that thought.”

“ _What_?” Steve asked, standing up as Tony reached for the door. “No, don’t—”

“I’ll be right back, just—just wait,” Tony said, glancing at him quickly and then away again. He opened the door and slipped out.

It was a nerve-wracking five minutes for Steve, and he fidgeted the whole time, sitting down and then bouncing back up, pacing for a while before he forced himself to stand still. He stayed in the room, though, trusting that Tony would come back.

And Tony did, this time with all his bags in hand.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, even as he went to help. He carefully did _not_ think of what it meant that Tony looked like he was moving in.

“Like I was _really_ going to let my parents put us in separate rooms,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Please.” 

Tony rummaged in his carry-on and held up a small mechanical device that Steve had never seen before. 

“I wasn’t planning on using this, but desperate times and all that, and this isn’t any of their business,” Tony said, hitting several buttons in succession. “Luckily, I adjusted this earlier in a fit of ‘screw you, I do what I want’ so we should be good to go. No more parents listening in on us.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because honestly, he’d kind of forgotten about it in the rush of seeing Tony. The device hummed softly.

“Okay.” Tony squared his shoulders. “Now my mom told me you overheard my dad and me arguing, and I can only imagine what she said to you. But you don’t have to take things this far, alright? I suppose it’s a nice touch to do the big emotional reveal or what-have-you, but I think you’re—” 

“What are you _talking_ about?” he asked, feeling like the floor was dropping out from underneath him. “This isn’t—I’m not—I _told_ you, I—”

He stopped at the expression on Tony’s face.

“Why don’t—don’t you believe me?” he asked, hating the hitch in his voice.

“You’re in love with me,” said Tony, making it almost a question.

“ _Yes_.”

“Since when?”

“Since over a year ago.” He could feel his cheeks get hot at the admission.

“Right.” Tony folded his arms. “So why didn’t you say anything? Why wait for _a whole fucking year_ to tell me?”

Steve looked down. “I didn’t think you’d want to know,” he said finally.

Tony’s lips twisted, but Steve noticed he didn’t disagree. “Why tell me now then? Because of my parents? Because if so, Steve, I have to say that—” 

“Because of the beach!” Steve said, wishing Tony would stop assuming this had anything to do with their damn cover story or with his parents at all. “Because I thought it was obvious from the way I kissed you.” He rubbed at his mouth with his hand. “Because of the way you kissed me back.”

“You said you were sorry though,” Tony said, and it was an accusation.

“I was! I _am_ ,” he said and ran his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls and tugging, before letting them drop. “I knew it was a bad idea, agreeing to come. I should’ve said no, but I’ve _never_ been able to say no to you, and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have kissed you like that when you weren’t expecting it. There are so many things that I’m sorry for, but I . . . it’s like none of it mattered when we were . . .” 

His hands clenched. 

“It’s just, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he said, low and unhappy.

Tony looked away.

“I guess you don’t . . .” Steve had to clear his throat in order to talk. “It’s what I thought, I—”

“Just hold your horses,” Tony said, holding his palm out. “Give me a second to think here. This came completely out of left field for me.”

“It did?” he asked, and he hadn’t realized it was possible to deflate even further. “Even after the beach—?”

“You said you were sorry! I thought you were telling me it was a mistake!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sor—you’re right. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” He glanced at Tony and then away. “And before that? You never . . . never thought about us?” he asked and then immediately wished he could take the words back.

“You didn’t like me!” Tony burst out.

“What?” Steve asked, because there had never been a more inappropriate non sequitur ever.

“That whole—for like months!” Tony said, throwing up his hands.

“What are you talking about?” 

“You said you couldn’t understand how Pepper could even be friends with me and I was the biggest man-whore this side of the Mississippi—”

“I _never_ said—”

“I heard you tell Bucky that I—”

“Wait, are you—are you talking about when we first _met_?” Steve asked, trying to wrap his head around the conversation.

“ _Yes_!” Tony said, looking at him like he needed to get with the program, when Steve was still trying to figure out what building the meeting was in.

“Okay, one, I _never_ said that.”

“You said I had more girlfriends than you had pants!”

“Two,” Steve said, soldiering on even though he did vaguely remember saying something along those lines after Tony had brought seven different dates to seven different get-togethers. “That was _two years ago,_ and if you recall, we didn’t exactly hit it off back then. I’m sorry that I said those things, but that was before I really knew you, and Tony, you are horrible at first impressions. And three, what does any of that have to do with right now?”

“Everything! Steve. _Nothing’s changed_ ,” Tony said, opening his arms like he was putting himself on display. “I’m still the same guy you met and instantly disliked. I still have a flavor of the week, and you were right, I can be rotten to people when I’m going without sleep or coffee, or I’m stressed, or it’s a day of the week that ends in ‘y.’ I may have somehow tricked you into liking me since then, but being friends is a far cry from being lovers, and I don’t understand why you’d—” 

“Tony,” Steve said, moving closer until he was almost hovering in Tony’s space. “I wasn’t _tricked_ into anything. You’re my best friend. I spend more time with you than anyone else does, not counting Pepper, but she works with you. I _know_ what you’re like. You’re brilliant and funny and tender-hearted and generous, and yes, you have your bad days, just like everyone else, and yes, you date a lot, but that’s not any of my business, and I never should’ve said anything about it. ”

His thoughts flashed back to the lonely child Tony had been—a child who had gotten accustomed to people leaving him and had grown into a man who had learned to guard his heart. Tony almost never let his lovers in close, and while Steve was sure his upbringing wasn’t the _only_ reason Tony hadn’t found someone to settle down with, it probably didn’t help either. Whatever the cause, however, it hadn’t been Steve’s place to comment, and he felt ashamed of himself for doing it back then.

“I would _like_ for it to be my business, though. The more time I spend with you, the more time I _want_ to spend with you, and it’s been that way for as long as I’ve known you. I told you, I’ve been in love with you for over a year, and it hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s just gotten worse—” 

“Like a disease.”

“ _Tony_.” He frowned at him and had to fight the urge to reach out and touch him. “Don’t. Please.”

Tony sighed. There was a long pause and then, “You love me.”

“Yes, Tony,” Steve said roughly. “I really do.”

“Well, fuck.” Tony rubbed his forehead. “Alright, there’s nothing for it then. Come here and kiss me.”

“What?” he asked, taking a step back, and he’d been wrong. _This_ was the worst non sequitur ever.

“Look, you love me, and like you said, you’re my best friend.”

“I don’t want _pity_ , Tony,” he said stiffly, moving back even further.

“It’s not _pity_ , damn it, it’s—I have spent the last two years keeping you firmly in the ‘friend’ category, Steve, and feeling grateful for even that much considering our rocky beginning. So to answer your question, no, I haven’t thought of you _that way_ before, and I keep getting a ‘does not compute’ message each time I try. But that kiss—” 

He broke off when they heard a cheer coming from downstairs.

“Oh fuck, that would be the birthday cake,” Tony groaned, covering his eyes. “My mom is going to kill me.” 

“We should go back,” Steve said, disappointment curling in his stomach—not that he had planned on kissing Tony as part of some kind of experiment, but was it wrong that a part of him would’ve liked to have Tony try and convince him?

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon,” Tony said, opening the door and stepping aside to let Steve pass. 

Except when Steve made to go by, Tony put his hand on his chest, stopping him, and when he turned his head to question him, Tony curled his fingers into his shirt and dragged him down.

“What are you—?” He tried to pull back, but Tony had a surprisingly strong grip, and their mouths met clumsily, noses bumping against each other before Tony tilted his head. 

“Kiss me,” Tony said softly, coaxingly against his mouth, brushing his lips against Steve’s and leaning into his body, reminding him sharply of the kiss on the beach and how good and right it had been. “You love me. Prove it.”

“The party,” Steve said, but he didn’t move away.

“ _Prove_ it,” Tony breathed, licking Steve’s bottom lip, and what else could he do but give in?

He shuddered as he kissed Tony, praying it was at least curiosity rather than pity that had inspired Tony’s offer and hoping it was more. 

_I haven’t thought of you_ that way _before . . . But that kiss—_

Steve poured as much of himself as he could into each kiss, desperate to show Tony that the last time hadn’t been a fluke, that not only did they get along as friends but that there was the potential for so much more. 

He moaned when Tony not only kissed him back but dug his fingers into his hips, drawing him closer. 

Steve kissed Tony until he was dizzy, because breathing was less important than tasting Tony, than feeling his tongue slide and curl against his own. Even when he finally had to come up for air, Steve didn’t go far, taking in short, gasping breaths as he burned his lips against the stubble on Tony’s jaw and sucked open-mouthed kisses along his neck.

 _I love you_ , he thought as he made his way back to Tony’s mouth, each press of his lips against Tony’s skin another declaration. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.


	7. Chapter 7

“Okay,” Tony said when he finally pulled back, his voice soft. He cupped Steve’s cheek. “Okay.”

Steve turned his face into Tony’s palm, keeping his eyes closed as he kissed it. He wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where he was, surrounded by Tony, lips tingling and swollen, his heart pounding in his chest. But instead, he pressed Tony’s hand against his cheek for one more moment, memorizing the feel of it, and then he stepped back.

“Downstairs?” he said, his voice much too hoarse.

“Steve,” Tony said, and he looked sad. Guilty.

“Don’t. You can—” Steve cleared his throat, his shoulders hunching like he was preparing for a blow. He didn’t think he could bear to listen to whatever Tony had to say just yet. “You can tell me later. After it’s—after the party’s over.”

“Will you stop?” Tony asked sharply, making Steve stiffen. “All I was going to say was that I’m sorry.” He looked away, lips thinning. “I’m sorry I didn’t know before.”

“Tony.” He reached out, hesitantly laying his hand on Tony’s arm, and felt something relax inside of him when Tony didn’t pull away. “I didn’t _want_ you to know.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Yes, it is. I did everything I could think of so you wouldn’t find out. If you’re going to blame someone, start with me.”

Tony didn’t respond.

“Come on,” Steve said, walking through the still open door. Nothing had changed, and the kisses had made things that much harder, but he was almost glad that they didn’t have the time to talk right now. He just wasn’t ready to have it all come crashing down on him yet.

\-----

At the top of the stairs, Tony came to a stop and put his hands in his pocket, leaning against the wall. “It’ll be better if we go in separately. I’ll be down in a sec.”

“Alright,” Steve said, scanning Tony’s face, not certain what he was looking for, but not finding anything alarming.

No one was looking at him this time as he sat down, and there was a plate of cake at his place at the table. The normalcy of it was almost surreal.

Tony came in through another door almost ten minutes later, and the sight of him made Steve’s jaw drop just a little. That had _not_ been the way Steve had left him. 

Tony’s clothes were slightly wrinkled, as if they’d been tossed on the ground for an extended period of time; his bowtie was askew and sloppily tied; his hair had been ruffled, with a section sticking up in the back. Even the way Tony moved—languorous and content, waves of satisfaction emanating off of him—had changed. If Steve hadn’t been with him just minutes before, he would’ve been devastated.

Instead, he flushed furiously when Tony looked straight at him, wiping the corner of his mouth with a slow swipe of his thumb, tongue peeking out for a split second. Steve knew it was an act, a reason for why they’d been gone if anyone cared to wonder, but he couldn’t believe Tony would pick _that_ excuse to offer up, and he didn’t know whether to be upset or not. He did know, however, that he was never going to be able to meet either of Tony’s parents’ eyes again. Or any of the guests. He didn’t think he was going to be able to meet _Tony’s_ eyes again, and nothing indecent had even happened between them.

He tried to wipe the image of Tony licking at the pad of his thumb out of his brain, but he was spectacularly unsuccessful.

Thankfully, Maria stood up a few minutes later, distracting him from his thoughts. She announced that a musical performance was going to start in the ballroom—someone famous from the excited murmur that started up, although Steve was too busy sinking down into his seat to really pay attention—and people began leaving the table.

“You ready?” Tony asked, coming up behind him, and Steve abandoned his uneaten cake and clambered to his feet.

They didn’t speak for a long time after that, the music too loud to hear anything else, but Tony stayed close by his side, his hand coming up to occasionally rest against the small of Steve’s back. Steve didn’t know what to make of it.

Tony’s touches weren’t the same as they used to be. At least, he didn’t think they were. He’d paid too much attention to each and every instance where Tony had touched him over the years, and these felt . . . different. Somehow. Different even from the ones Tony had given him in the past few days when they’d been pretending to be boyfriends.

Of course, he could just be imagining things. 

He watched as Tony took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, nodding in time to the music in either one of the best acting jobs Steve had ever seen, or in careless disregard for everything that had happened between them.

It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Steve was seeing things that weren’t there, that he was trying to impart significance on the barest of gestures to make himself feel better. 

Tony shifted, so he was pressing lightly against Steve.

But he didn’t think so.

_You love me. Prove it._

Why would Tony say that? Steve didn’t think that a handful of kisses could prove _anything,_ let alone that he was in love. They did absolutely nothing to indicate how _much_ he loved him, of that he was certain. But it had been so important to Tony.

Why though? Tony kissed people all the time—Steve had to ignore the flash of jealously and wistfulness the thought inspired—but he hadn’t stayed with any of them. So had it been less the kisses themselves that mattered and more the fact that Steve had stuck around? That’d he’d been willing to do as Tony asked instead of going down to join in the celebration as he should’ve done since he was a guest in Tony’s parents’ house?

Except Tony was a master at getting people to do what he wanted—at getting _Steve_ to do what he wanted—so how did that prove anything?

Did Tony even _know_ what he wanted Steve to do? If he did, Steve wished he would tell _him_ , because he didn’t understand any of it, and as a result, he couldn’t stop the flickering hope from growing that maybe it was Tony’s way of giving him a chance.

He hadn’t rejected him outright after all, and Steve had given him plenty of opportunities to. And even if Tony had never thought about it before, he had to be entertaining the thought _now_.

Didn’t he?

A part of Steve wanted to be alone with Tony to ask. An even larger part, however, wanted to avoid that exact situation for as long as possible. Even though their last conversation hadn’t gone poorly, it hadn’t exactly gone well either, and there was still plenty of time for Tony to make up his mind against him. It was better to delay, to give himself time to think and plan, and out here with all the other guests milling around and with Howard and Maria off to the side, Tony couldn’t—

_Prove it._

He blinked, unease creeping over him.

Maybe when Tony had wanted him to prove he loved him, he hadn’t been talking about just the kiss.

Maybe . . . maybe Steve hadn’t understood a damn thing Tony had said to him. 

_Prove it._

Had he really just thought it was better? Out here? Because—because Tony wouldn’t break up with him when everyone was watching? Because their charade had to go on while they were still in Tony’s parent’s house, and so he was safe?

 _So why didn’t you say anything? Why wait for_ a whole fucking year _to tell me?_

He’d said he hadn’t thought Tony would want to know, but was that the truth? Was that the _only_ truth? 

It had seemed like the right thing to do back in New York: not rocking the boat, protecting their friendship. So why did it seem so stupid now? 

Steve had spent his entire life facing down bullies and standing up for the things he believed in, but when it came to fighting for the person he loved, he hadn’t done a damn thing for an entire year. When he finally _had_ said something, it was because circumstances had basically forced him to, and looking at it from Tony’s perspective, his actions didn’t match up to words at all.

When had he become so afraid?

Someone—Erik, he saw, the guy from earlier—came up to Tony, and Steve felt it keenly when Tony moved away to talk to him, the sudden drop in temperature from where he wasn’t resting against Steve’s side anymore. Watching Tony smile at Erik, wide and amused, not turning back to include Steve—even though there was no reason he should since Tony was already coming back to him—made Steve recognize exactly when he’d lost his courage. 

He’d never felt this way about anyone before, had never fallen so much in love. Tony had snuck in under his defenses, had created a place for himself in Steve’s heart and taken over without even trying, and that had _terrified_ Steve. It still did, because loving Tony meant he could lose him, and Steve would rather have something than nothing at all. Even if it meant they only stayed friends.

Steve knew that he tended to let romance fall into his lap. Not that he didn’t have people he admired or was attracted to, but he rarely initiated anything, a holdover from when he was young and sickly and someone looking in his direction meant they were watching Bucky walking beside him.

And he knew those days were behind him, knew that people no longer looked past him like he wasn’t even there. But there was knowing, and then there was _knowing_ , and he couldn’t deny that he was more comfortable when someone approached him than the other way around, as evidenced by his stunning pursuit of Tony. 

Tony, who was already so suspicious of love and had a history of being left behind as soon as something more important came along. Even factoring out his parents, which was frankly impossible to do, how many times had Steve seen him date men and women that cared more about how big his wallet was than about Tony himself? Hell, Tony might even have preferred it that way, knowing going into each date what was expected of both parties. 

No wonder Tony didn’t believe him. No wonder he kept thinking there was some other motivation behind Steve’s confession. How could Tony accept his feelings, when Steve acted like they were something to be ashamed of? When he kept promising himself he wouldn’t give up and then backing down at the first sign of adversity?

He found himself leaning against Tony, putting too much of his weight on him to be considered polite, but just needing to feel him next to him, needing to know he was still there.

Tony grunted but adjusted for the additional weight. “You okay?” he asked, awkwardly sliding his arm around Steve’s waist.

No, he wasn’t. He had to do better, had to _be_ better at this. There’d been a part of Tony that thought Steve didn’t _like_ him. How was that possible?

“Hey,” Tony said, louder this time, pulling Steve in so he could speak next to his ear. “You okay? You don’t have to stay down here anymore, you know. It’s been a long day. My parents will understand if you want to head up now.”

“Will you come too?” he asked, knowing he shouldn’t, but feeling too vulnerable to stop himself.

“Oh, uh . . . sure.” Tony gave him a brief squeeze. “Sure, if you want.”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Tony said, looking around until he found his parents. “Well then, let’s just say goodnight and then go up.”

\----

“You can have the bathroom first,” Tony said, breaking the silence that had accompanied them into Steve’s room.

“Oh. Um, thanks,” Steve said, hesitating for a second—should they talk? Should they _not_ talk?—before lifting his carryon onto the bed and rummaging inside for his bathroom bag and something to sleep in other than his standard pair of boxers.

He took a fast shower, pulling on his clothes without bothering to dry himself all the way, anxious to—

Honestly, he didn’t know what he expected to happen when he got out, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to waste time in the bathroom.

Tony was on the phone when Steve came out. Steve was starting to hate that phone.

“Whoops, gotta run, Pep. See you tomorrow. Oh, fine, whatever. Monday— _Tuesday_? You’re coming back Tuesday now? Shit, fine, _fine_. See you then.”

Tony stood up, and Steve noticed he’d taken off his tie and jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He thought Tony was handsome no matter what he wore, but he had to admit to having a weakness for a disheveled Tony, and it made his chest ache to see it in such an intimate setting, knowing it didn’t mean anything. 

“Your turn,” he said, holding his tux in his hands and feeling water drip down his neck.

“Alright. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He waited until Tony had closed the door behind him before he went to hang up his clothes. He dithered over turning on the television, not wanting to seem like he didn’t want to talk, but not wanting to act like he expected Tony to _want_ to talk, and finally settled on putting on the news with the volume low. 

He had the same problem deciding on where to sit. There was the armchair, but it implied a certain defensiveness and desire to be alone. The bed was bigger, but there were connotations to sitting on a bed together that he wasn’t sure he wanted to evoke. He finally just stood at the corner of the bed and avoided the decision altogether.

He watched the news, not really processing any of it, until he heard the water shut off, at which point, he picked up the remote like he was in the middle of flipping channels, and tried to act relaxed when he looked at Tony as he emerged from the bathroom, wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt.

Tony took one glance around the room, from him to the television to the bed and back, and he sighed, shaking his head. “Come here, you dork.”

Steve dropped the remote and shuffled over, stopping when he was in front of Tony.

“I told you to come here,” Tony said, and the next thing Steve knew, Tony was hugging him, his hand stroking down his back soothingly.

Steve stood tense in his embrace for all of two seconds before he wilted, burying his face against Tony’s neck and bringing his arms to hold him back.

“I don’t know how to prove that I love you,” Steve said, hiding his face because it was easier to be honest that way. 

“Hey, no, Steve,” Tony said, pressing his cheek to Steve’s hair. “What are you even doing, listening to me? You should know better by now.”

“I feel like I just keep piling one mistake on top of another, and I don’t know what I—”

“It’s not you, okay? I just—I didn’t even mean it.”

“I’m not giving up, though. I’m—”

“Look, I know you love me,” Tony said, fingers digging into Steve’s back. “I do; I know.”

“I’m _in_ love with you,” Steve corrected, breath hitching, and he didn’t know who was holding on tighter.

Tony hesitated, his arms loosening slightly, until he said, “Alright,” and then he held Steve even closer as if to make up for it.

He wanted to assure Tony that he _was_ , that this was it for him, the real thing. But words weren’t enough. He knew that already. Tony might have just said that he hadn’t meant Steve had to prove anything, but Steve knew he’d been sincere when he’d said it.

“You know I love you too, right?” Tony asked, his voice muffled but still loud enough to break Steve’s heart.

“Don’t—”

“Not the way you deserve. But I do,” Tony said, and he’d thought Tony’s words had hurt before, but it was nothing compared to the way they cut now. “And I—I _want_ to—”

He lifted his head, planning to say—he wasn’t sure what he’d been planning to say, because Tony’s face was right there, his expression so tender and sad, like he wished he could give Steve everything he wanted but just didn’t know how.

He didn’t pull back when Tony leaned forward. He should have, but he didn’t, Tony’s hands coming up to cradle Steve’s head as he kissed him, sliding his tongue over Steve’s lips and dipping into his mouth, slow and careful.

“I don’t want your pity,” he gasped, somehow finding the strength to turn his head, and he knew he’d told Tony as much already, but he had to say it again.

Tony laughed roughly. “Steve, you should know me well enough by now to know that this is purely selfish on my part. You’re my best friend,” he said again, and Steve made a low sound. Before he could move away, however, Tony continued, “How could I love anyone more than you?”

Steve stared, his heart twisting within his chest with uncertainty. 

“What are—what are you saying?”

“Just give me time,” Tony said, pulling Steve down by the back of his neck until their foreheads were pressed together. “A little bit of time to go from thinking, ‘oh hey, there’s Steve,’ to ‘oh _hey_ , there’s _Steve_.’ Is that—can you do that for me?” 

When they’d come upstairs, all he’d hoped for was time, that Tony would be willing to give him another chance to after the way he’d almost ruined things. Now that he had it, though, he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Why?” he asked hoarsely, needing to know.

Tony let out a shuddering breath. “Because I _want_ to believe,” he said, fingers tightening almost painfully around Steve’s neck, and this time when he kissed Steve, he kissed him back.

\----

When Steve woke up the next morning, he discovered Tony had apparently melded himself against his back. He could feel little puffs of breath against his neck each time Tony exhaled, goosebumps already lining his skin, and Tony’s arm was draped over his waist.

Oh. 

He closed his eyes, soaking in the feel of lying next to Tony like this and let himself wonder what it’d be like to wake up with Tony every day. He knew they still had a long way to go and that nothing had really been resolved. But he felt so much lighter, buoyed up by the possibilities, and he was determined to give Tony—to give them both—all the time they needed in order to make things work.

He turned carefully, trying not to jostle or wake Tony but wanting to see him. By the time he got himself situated, however, Tony was looking at him through half-closed eyes, and Steve whispered a sheepish apology. 

“Morning,” Tony mumbled, lines from his pillow on his cheek, his hair an utter mess.

“Good morning.” 

“You ready to go back home today?”

“Whenever you are.”

“Right,” Tony said. He reached up to pat Steve’s cheek clumsily. “So like, in a few more hours.”

“Okay,” Steve said, smiling helplessly.

Tony smiled softly back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it. Sorry for the lateness, but trying to find time to write and pack is hard. It's not a perfect happy ending (and damn, where is the porn??? FAIL.), but I hope you guys enjoyed it nonetheless.
> 
> I was really tempted to do a time-skip, SO, SO TEMPTED, but I refrained. I kind of feel like this fic deserves an epilogue, which I still might do once the move is over and I'm all settled, and if I do, there will definitely be a time skip there, so fair warning.
> 
> Last but not least, this is going to be my last Stony fic for a while if not forever. I apologize to all you Nostalgia readers, but it doesn't look like I'm going to finish it. I've really enjoyed being part of the fandom, however, and I appreciate every kudos and comment you guys have left for me. You guys are wonderful. Take care. <3


	8. Epilogue, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been plugging away at this epilogue for forever (I know, so few words for so much angst on my part), so I'm going to post this first part in order to encourage me to finish the second. It should totally work. >_>
> 
> I haven't forgotten about you, jennagrins!
> 
> Next post should be the very last one. Probably.

Tony tended to think that dating was overrated. Oh, he liked the chase—who didn’t like the chase?—and he liked the benefits—mmm, the benefits—but the dating itself involved a lot of time that he didn’t have, a lot of companionship that he didn’t necessarily want, and a lot of compromise that he really just disliked. 

Not to say that he hated dating entirely, or that he couldn’t see himself settling down one day in the future after he’d made his first billion and wasn’t slaving away starting a new business. For the time being, however, he was pretty happy with the status quo of seeking out his friends when he wanted company and the occasional one-night to one-month stand when he wanted something a little more. 

So he honestly couldn’t understand why he kept looking over at Preppy McPrepperson over there, because he totally didn’t seem like Tony’s usual type. For one, he looked . . . really wholesome actually, sitting in his freshly pressed khaki pants and button-down shirt, a glass of milk and the remnants of a bran muffin at his side. Hot too, don’t get him wrong, but like farm boy, boy next door, Jimmy down the street wholesome. The guy just gave off a Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood vibe that had Tony looking for a cardigan and change of shoes. Definitely not casual hook-up material.

For another, he was sitting in the corner of a Starbucks, typing away at his laptop in a way that practically screamed Aspiring Author In-Progress, and Tony, even at his most caffeinated, just knew he’d fall asleep if he ever let him tell him about his Great American Novel. No matter how gorgeous, the guy was obviously trouble with a capital T.

And yet . . .

Tony didn’t normally frequent coffee shops. He’d bought a several thousand dollar espresso machine for his home specifically to avoid the long lines and the multitude of options that made choosing an exercise in patience and self-flagellation. (If he’d known that there was such high caliber eye candy at Starbucks, however, then he would’ve been going every day, because yowzah.) But here he was. And there _he_ was. And while Tony didn’t believe in fate, if he did, he might want to say there was a reason why he couldn’t fall asleep all last night; why he’d been running too late to his meeting that morning to fix himself a cup or three; why he’d chosen to walk home instead of calling Happy to pick him up; why the Starbucks on the corner had been too tempting to resist; why he couldn’t stop staring. 

Maybe he was supposed to go over there and introduce himself.

Lack of sleep aside, Tony did look pretty snazzy after all. He’d just left a meeting with a potential client who could bring in a few million in revenue in the next year and even more after that, so he was wearing his third best suit, his hair was slicked back, and he was sporting his favorite pair of sunglasses. He was looking rather fine, if he did say so himself, and the smile he’d gotten from the barista said he wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

Besides, even if he didn’t normally like dating, it wasn’t like it was _horrible_ or anything. Really, it was an acquired taste, and he bet if he just tried it again, he’d probably like it a lot more than the last time he’d been in a relationship. Besides, things were starting to look up for him and his company, and his parents had been nagging him to bring someone home, and seriously, the _benefits_.

Also, those thighs. It should be illegal for a person to have those thighs.

He bribed the man sitting at the table just behind The Bold and The Beautiful’s to move and take his seat with him, so that when Tony said, “Do you mind if I take this chair? My table doesn’t have any,” he was able to do it with a straight face.

“Sure, no problem,” he said, looking up and smiling and even moving Tony’s chair for him, which was obviously a sign of sudden and immediate infatuation if ever Tony had seen one, except _then he sat back down and started typing away again_ , and wait, what?

No matter what Clint said, Tony knew he wasn’t irresistible. As close to it as humanly possible, sure, but he’d experienced his fair share of disappointment. What he was, however, was persistent, and not easily discouraged, and _so fucking annoying_ if some accounts were to be believed, so he didn’t let the lack of follow-up flirting bother him, simply settled down in his seat, already deciding on his next line of attack.

Except then Hot to Trot got a call on his cell phone, and the next thing Tony knew, he was hurriedly packing up, phone glued to his ear, and leaving. 

Tony sat in his chair and watched it all happen, debating whether or not to follow, to say something, to do who knew what to get his attention before he walked out the door. 

In the end, though, he didn’t do or say anything, because the guy obviously had more important things to focus on, and Tony wasn’t that self-absorbed.

Eventually he got up and went back to his lab and told himself it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. He didn’t believe it, but it was nice to think.

A few weeks later, he showed up for Pepper’s birthday party, late and exhausted and distracted because sometimes there were just too many ideas that needed to be jotted down, and keeping them bottled up was almost painful. A few minutes later, however, all his sparking thoughts fizzled down to nothing as The One Who Got Away descended on him like an avenging angel, accusing him of all manner of things, not the least of which were being drunk and obnoxious, and there wasn’t so much as a hint of recognition in his eyes.

Tony was so caught off-guard that he didn’t have anything to say in his defense—not many people got to make a first impression twice, and apparently the first time had been so unremarkable that he didn’t even remember him, and now, he thought he was the world’s biggest asshole—and by the time he’d recovered, Thor’s booming, “Tony, my friend!” kept him from responding in kind.

It didn’t bother him. It didn’t—yes, it turned out the guy was Steve, the same mysterious person the gang had been talking about for weeks that Tony had somehow managed to avoid meeting through bad luck and happenstance. And yes, it was _Steve_ , that Tony had developed an almost instantaneous crush on like he hadn’t done since he was seven and wondering why chasing Marilyn around the park was so much fun. But so what? So—

_If you had a shred of common decency, you wouldn’t have come here tonight._

_What were you thinking?_

_Pepper deserves better._

It didn’t bother him.

\-----

Things eventually settled down, and it turned out that Steve deserved every bit of praise that everyone seemed determined to heap onto him, Tony included. They got along surprisingly well. Like _surprisingly_ well, bantering back and forth and playing jokes on each other and just shooting the breeze when their schedules allowed.

Tony forgot about their disastrous first meetings, or at least, he stopped thinking of them, so same difference. There were a few hiccups, sure, but never anything too big. Sometimes the light would fall on Steve just so, and Tony would get hit again by how attractive he was. Or Steve would say something particularly funny or endearing, and Tony would think about how easy it was to be around him, how right it felt. Each and every time, Tony would remind himself that Steve hadn’t even remembered him, had been so unimpressed that he’d yelled at him at Pepper’s party. It didn’t matter that things had changed, that Steve looked at him with affection now instead of contempt, because they hadn’t changed _enough_ , not really. And when it came down to it, Tony _needed_ those memories to keep himself in check and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid like fall in love and ruin one of the most important friendships in his life.

So yeah, it wasn’t perfect, but he was dealing with it, and by the time Steve gave him a copy of his key, Tony didn’t even blink, any potential wistfulness gone before it could even register. 


	9. Epilogue, Part 2

Needless to say, he was a little surprised when Steve revealed he had feelings for him. Stunned more like. The words “shocked,” “astounded,” and “flabbergasted” also came to mind.

Still, while it took a little time to get comfortable with it, Tony was totally used to the idea by now. So Steve was in love with him. Who wouldn’t be, right?

“Hi, Tony,” Steve said, leaning down to give him a quick kiss before sitting across the table from him.

“Hey,” he said a heartbeat too late, coughed really, trying to act like everything was normal. Okay, so he’d lied. It’d been almost three weeks since Steve’s declaration, and Tony was still a little freaked out.

The smile on Steve’s face dimmed slightly before getting fixed firmly back in place, and fuck. He needed to get his act together. Knowing he was disappointing Steve was one of the worst feelings in the world, but Tony just couldn’t seem to help himself. 

If Steve tried to hold his hand, he flinched. If Steve slung his arm around his shoulders or hugged him, he froze. If Steve kissed him when he wasn’t expecting it, he’d do his best impression of DUM-E when his power abruptly failed, squealing to a stop until the reserve power kicked in, at which point he started moving again in jerks and twitches. And it wasn’t getting any better.

He just . . . he really _did_ believe that Steve loved him. He did. Mostly. Like there was a definite majority going on in his heart and brain cells. It was just that last tiny percentage that never seemed to get the memo no matter how many times it got sent out, and Tony honestly had no idea how to fix the problem. Which killed him, because he made a living off of cobbling things together and creating something totally unique out of bits and bobs, but when it came to his love life, he felt like a complete neophyte, all wait, what, this piece is supposed to do what and go _where_?

“Thanks for meeting me for lunch,” Steve said, and shit, Tony had to kill the wince before it escaped. He’d been so caught up in la-la-land that _Steve_ was the one trying to smooth things over, even though it was Tony who was screwing things up.

“Thanks for asking me,” he said, reaching out to squeeze Steve’s hand in an effort to make it better somehow. It did seem to work for a second, Steve’s expression softening, but then as Steve looked at their hands, it shifted into something else, something like resignation, and woah. Woah. That was not a good look on Steve. At all.

Long after lunch was over and they’d gone their separate ways, Tony was still thinking about it. He couldn’t fall asleep later that night because of it, just lay in bed and kept flashing back to the downward cast of Steve’s lips, the dip between his eyebrows.

Steve wasn’t the type of person to give up. About anything. Ever. So Tony knew that if Steve had decided to love him, then by damn he was going to be in love with him until Tony finally pushed him away, even if he was miserable as a result.

But that was the last thing Tony wanted, because he _did_ love Steve. Maybe not the way Steve wanted exactly, but . . .

He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

Why couldn’t Steve have had a crush on him when he’d had a crush on Steve? He hadn’t told him about it, hadn’t thought the truth would do either of them any good, but fucking hell, life would’ve been so much easier if Steve had wanted to get in his pants the first time he saw him instead of a year after the fact.

Fuck, a year. That wouldn’t have been too long after Tony had finally given up on Steve, had stopped experiencing pangs in his chest every time he saw him with someone else and had been comfortable hanging out with him without any of the weird one-sided sexual tension.

He sighed, nostalgic for the flutters of attraction that he’d always felt around Steve back then, remembering how he’d had to keep himself from touching—

Tony’s eyes popped open.

Huh.

\-----

“Come in, come in,” Tony said, grinning, nearly dragging Steve inside.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, but he was smiling hesitantly back at Tony, and oh yeah, that was a much better look on him. Steve should always be smiling.

“I am geniusing,” Tony said, walking backward and leading him down the hall by the arm. 

“What?” Steve said, laughing at him but following obediently, although Tony didn’t think he was really paying attention to where they were going. 

“It’s totally a word. Or it should be. It refers to the process of having genius-level thoughts,” Tony said, successfully maneuvering around furniture, “and thus applies to my every-waking moment.”

“You and your ego.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“And you say it like it’s a _good_ thing . . .” Steve said, the words petering away when they stepped into Tony’s bedroom.

Tony didn’t let the ensuing silence bother him, and he said, “Surprise!” waving his hand to encompass the lights that had been turned low and the blankets that had been pulled back invitingly on the bed.

“Tony?” Steve said, and Tony took it as a positive sign that he didn’t look upset.

“So I was thinking,” Tony said, taking that one step closer so he was completely in Steve’s space. “Hence the reference to geniusing. It’s been weeks since we got back from my parents’, and in all that time, we really haven’t done more than make out a little bit.”

Which they’d only done twice actually, and it’d been over a week and a half since the last time. And that was Tony’s fault. He’d realized last night that he’d gotten so used to monitoring himself around Steve, that it’d become ingrained. 

Back in the early days of their friendship, he hadn’t touched Steve at all, had made sure he was never in a situation where he’d so much as brush by him in passing. As time went on, however, that level of avoidance had been impossible to maintain, so Tony had limited himself, only resorting to casual, quick touches or manly, back-patting hugs that never lasted long. Eventually, he’d gotten confident enough that it progressed to something more natural, but he’d never completely relaxed around Steve, not the way he did around Natasha or Bruce or any of their other friends, although he’d done it in such a way that not even Pepper had ever mentioned it.

Now, though, even when he had permission, even when Steve made the first move, he still didn’t reach out to Steve. And it’d gotten to the point that Steve had started picking up on the fact that Tony never initiated anything and began backing off, probably thinking it was proof Tony didn’t reciprocate his feelings and never would, which made Tony feel even worse about the situation, and it was a downward spiral of awkwardness and bad feelings. 

What was so funny about it, however, was that he’d been the one doing all the kissing in California, or at least, prompting Steve to kiss him, and it was like his parents’ house had been the one place where the rules hadn’t mattered. Of course, that might have had to do with the fact that he’d gone there with Steve to convince his parents he was in love with him in the first place, and wow, asking Steve to go with him had been completely crazy, now that he thought about it. 

“I’m not saying we should have sex,” Tony said, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t _against_ the idea per se, could almost imagine the two of them together in a sort of hazy, features-blurred-out sort of way, but that was what this whole thing was about, wasn’t it? That he wasn’t seeing Steve even though he was right in front of him. 

“So what are you saying?” Steve asked, looking uncertain.

“I’m saying I want to touch you,” Tony said, sliding his hand from Steve’s arm, which was totally within an acceptable zone, to Steve’s waist, which Tony had never even _let_ himself think about. He squeezed gently, and it was almost surreal to feel the narrowness of his waist, the strength in his torso. “Wherever I want. And I want you to want me to.”

Steve let out a shuddering laugh, raising his hand to cover his face. “I do,” he said, “Tony, you know I do.”

“Well, alright then,” Tony said, and he tugged Steve’s hand down and hesitated only a second before drawing him into a kiss.

It was . . . it was different from the kisses they’d shared before. He couldn’t say why, couldn’t pick any one particular detail that stood out from any other time, but it was true nonetheless. It was easier this way, when they both had their cards out on the table and he was the one directing the pace. 

He hadn’t told Steve that he couldn’t touch him back, but he seemed to understand, keeping his hands to himself as Tony explored his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the edge of his teeth. He tasted and teased, and Steve let him, responding but staying within the limits Tony imposed, and Tony could feel himself sinking into the kiss. It reminded him of that first time on the beach, when he’d thought they were both discovering something new and unexpected, and his heart had threatened to pound its way out of his chest at the thought that maybe . . . maybe . . .

It wasn’t that he didn’t—or _couldn’t_ —love Steve. He’d thought as much before, but the kisses confirmed it for him. He wasn’t unaffected, his cock stirring from Steve’s proximity and the sweetness of his mouth; and Tony knew that if that desire was allowed to grow to its full potential, combined with the respect and affection he already felt for Steve, he’d eventually reach a point of no return. 

It was that he’d always felt like he was drowning under all of Steve’s hopes and expectations before, and the worry about not being able to meet them had been crippling.

He _wanted_ to love Steve. As he’d told him before, Steve was his best friend. He already loved him. He loved being with him, clicked with him in a way that he didn’t with most people. But he’d been so busy trying to force himself to fall _in love_ that he’d actually been holding himself back.

“C’mere,” he said softly and took Steve to bed.

It might’ve been smarter to choose to the couch, he thought, while he dithered about how he wanted to situate Steve, but he’d wanted to invite the intimacy a bedroom provided, hadn’t wanted to do it in neutral territory.

He finally had Steve lie down while he sat at the edge of the bed next to him. It put him a lot higher than Steve, but it gave him the most freedom to touch without having him sitting or lying on top of him. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position in the world, however, but he didn’t mind so much, not when he could stroke the tips of his fingers over Steve’s forehead, down his cheeks, could trace the line of his jaw and prick his fingers against his stubble while Steve watched, his eyes solemn. 

Steve shivered slightly when Tony skimmed down his neck, but he didn’t stop Tony, not then and not when he moved lower, dipping into the valley of his collarbone before coming to rest near the top of Steve’s chest.

“You can . . .” Steve swallowed. “Do you want me to take this off?”

“Maybe next time,” Tony said absently, not that he wasn’t tempted, but he’d been honest when he said it wasn’t about sex. Not yet anyway. His fingers flexed against Steve’s shirt, the material surprisingly soft and incredibly warm from Steve’s body heat. “I just want to touch you like this right now,” he said, picking up where he’d left off.

“Next time?” Steve asked, breath hitching slightly when Tony’s palms swept over his nipples, a reaction that Tony took careful note of. 

“Oh yeah. You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just doing this once, did you?”

“I . . . didn’t think about it,” Steve said, a non-answer if Tony had ever heard one. Maybe this would be good for Steve too, would give him a chance to get used to Tony _wanting_ to touch him while letting Tony have the freedom to ignore the voice in the back of his head that whispered he shouldn’t, that Steve was off-limits and always would be.

Tony didn’t keep track of how long he touched Steve, just knew that his fingertips had gone slightly numb by the time it was over and that he felt like he’d almost memorized the dips and swells of the upper half of Steve’s body, that he could still feel them against his skin. He also knew that he was semi-hard by the end of it and furthermore, that Steve looked drugged, eyelids drooping as he basked in the sensation.

It was an appealing sight, and Tony was tempted to keep going. But while he typically threw himself into things without always considering the consequences, this really deserved small, careful steps, and besides—

“Up and at ‘em, Steve,” he said, slapping Steve’s thigh and making him jump ridiculously high off the bed. He grinned. “We’re going to be late for the movie.”

“Movie?” Steve asked, slurred almost, and man, he was so out of it. It gave Tony more than a little bit of a thrill to see Steve’s reaction to him. He consciously didn’t look further down, because he’d already decided no sex until they were actually ready for it—he wasn't going to mess this up by assuming sex would magically make it better—but he was tempted, which was a feat in and of itself actually.

“I told you I was going to take you out tonight, remember?”

“What?”

“C’mon, let’s go. Got to get the good seats,” Tony said, getting off the bed, but he took the time to grab Steve’s hand, winding their fingers together, and for a change, it didn’t feel weird at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is apparently the weirdest way to do an epilogue ever, which, I don't know what to say. But anyway, one more part to go, ONE MORE, THAT IS IT, REALLY. THERE WILL EVEN BE PORN. I have no idea how _much_ porn, but at least a little bit.  >_>


	10. Epilogue, Part 3

Tony had always had a thing about touching, entirely too free with his hands and oblivious about anything resembling personal space. It used to make Steve crazy in the best and worst ways before he’d made his feelings known. He’d lived for those touches, had done ridiculous things to inspire more when he’d thought he could get away with it and even when he couldn’t. 

He hadn’t realized, however, that Tony had been showing so much restraint. Tony was torturing him with touches now, and Steve never wanted him to stop.

“Hey,” Tony said, running his fingertips across the back of Steve’s neck. This time, just like every other time Tony had done it, he shivered in response. He’d never known his neck was so sensitive, but Tony had begun making a habit of showing him all sorts of things about himself that he’d never realized before.

He turned his head in time to catch Tony’s smug smile, and he rolled his eyes, even though he didn’t actually mind. Tony was pleased with himself for making Steve react; how could he possibly be upset about that? 

“You busy?” Tony asked, eyes holding a gleam that Steve was beginning to recognize.

“No,” he said, just remembering to save his work before pushing away from his desk with what was probably too much enthusiasm. That was alright, though; it was fine, especially when Tony was taking his hand and pulling him toward the couch.

For all that he’d gone along with it, he hadn’t been too sure about Tony’s idea in the beginning. He’d worried that Tony was trying to force himself to be attracted to him, was trying to make himself fall in lust because he knew that love would never happen. Steve hadn’t said no, however, couldn’t have even imagined denying Tony anything at that point, still couldn’t, and he’d never been so happy to go along with one of Tony’s whacky schemes.

Ever since that first night, Tony had begun to relax, losing the stiltedness that had shadowed him since California. He’d talked more easily with Steve, teased and joked around with him, and he’d stopped monitoring himself constantly, paranoid about whatever impression he may or may not have been giving off. It wasn’t that Steve hadn’t been aware of how different Tony had been acting since the trip, but having him back felt like taking that first gulp of air after swimming laps in the pool, like being able to breathe freely instead of getting by with as little as he could bear. 

“C’mere,” Tony murmured, his hands on the sides of Steve’s face drawing him down for a kiss, making their journey to the couch a lot longer and clumsier in the process, but much more enjoyable as well. Tony fit into his arms, into all his empty spaces, like he’d been made just for him, and Steve would never pass up the opportunity to hold him.

Looking back, he still didn’t know how he’d managed to keep his hands to himself in those early days while Tony stroked and caressed, teased and tormented him. He’d done it, though, somehow; had lain with his arms pressed against his side, hands curled into fists, trembling with the effort not to reach out. 

The night that Tony had finally taken pity on him and said, “Touch me, Steve,” it’d taken him forever before he could stop, mesmerized by the feel of Tony’s skin, by the sight of his fingers trailing over him. He still hadn’t been satisfied, had wanted more and more and more, and Tony had known, had kissed him softly just once and murmured another, “Next time,” that had left Steve aching. 

He hadn’t realized how much self-control he had until Tony had started testing it, day after day, but it’d been a good pain, the promise of everything that was to come. It still was.

They eventually made it to the couch, Tony laughing into his mouth as they tumbled onto the cushions, and it was a miracle that neither of them landed on the floor. 

They kissed and kissed, and even though it was something they’d been doing for a while now, it still felt new to Steve, still made his stomach clench and his heart beat faster. Tony was kissing him. He didn’t know if he ever wanted to get over the surprise and sweetness of it.

He barely noticed when Tony started unbuttoning his shirt, although he stared avidly when Tony pulled his own over his head, greedy for every inch of revealed skin. When Tony reached for the button of his jeans, however, his eyebrows came up, and he said, “Tony?” because that wasn’t something they’d done before. Not that hands hadn’t wandered a time or two, and Tony had given him foot and calf massages that had left him limp everywhere except where it mattered. They’d never deliberately taken it past a certain point, however, and he had to ask the question, even though he prayed he already knew the answer.

He’d never let himself think about what it meant that Tony kept the physical portion of their relationship going along at a snail’s pace. He’d seen Tony with enough men and women to know it wasn’t his typical style, but speculating about the reasons why Tony was acting differently with him would’ve driven him insane, so he hadn’t done it. He knew what he _wanted_ the reason to be, and it was what he focused on when he took himself in hand each time Tony left, not even making it out of the living room most times, because he couldn’t wait that long: the thought that this—that _they_ —were too important for Tony to rush things along.

“Do you remember how I said I wanted to touch you wherever I wanted?” Tony asked, his eyes searching Steve’s face, his fingers moving restlessly although they never went far enough for Steve’s liking—waiting on his permission, as if there’d ever been any doubt.

“Yes, and my answer hasn’t changed,” Steve said, proud of how even his voice was. His heart was _racing_. “Wherever you want, Tony,” he said, breath hitching as Tony brushed against his cock as he undid the button, and his fingers curled around the edges of the couch to keep from grabbing Tony.

“ _However_ I want?” Tony asked, teasing as he tugged at his boxers and jeans, and Steve lifted his hips so he could pull them down and off, flushing when he caught a glimpse of how hard he already was, wet and dripping.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Tony said, skimming one hand down the center of Steve’s body as he settled between his thighs. Steve had never seen the hunger burn so brightly in Tony’s eyes before, had never been naked and laid out for his pleasure either, but neither of those was why he found himself staring at Tony now. Tony was watching him with an incredibly tender expression on his face, a look that said Steve was something precious and cared for, and it should’ve been at odds with what they were doing but it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all.

“Oh, damn,” he whispered when Tony wrapped his fingers around his cock, and he fought to keep his eyes open, not wanting to look away from Tony for even a second. 

He’d always known that Tony expressed himself with his hands, but he hadn’t realized how much until recently. Tony still poked and smacked him when he wasn’t getting his way, or would carelessly put his hand on Steve’s arm or shoulder or back in order to guide him towards something in particular, but he’d added new touches to his repertoire: gentle squeezes to say hello and goodbye, lingering caresses along his neck and jaw when they hadn’t seen each other in a while, possessive holds around his waist when they were out together. He’d told a story with the movement and placement of his hands that had filled Steve with hope, because even if the words themselves weren’t there yet, Tony had managed to communicate how his feelings for him were changing.

He wondered if Tony realized the message he was sending now, his hands gentle and sure, coaxing his orgasm out of him, everything unhurried and easy, like he had all the time in the world, and there couldn’t be anything or anyone more important to spend it on. 

Eventually, however, slow and careful were left behind as the pleasure became steadily more intense. It was as if Tony knew exactly what Steve wanted, or maybe it was that Tony was just paying attention, his gaze fastened to Steve’s face, cataloguing every cry and shiver and repeating the things that make Steve react the most. 

“Tony, please,” he said an eternity later when it felt like he was going to shatter apart if Tony didn’t let him come.

“Please what?” Tony said, scraping Steve’s nipple with his nail, and Steve’s back arched up off the couch.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve moaned, fingers digging into the couch so hard that he was vaguely surprised it hadn’t broken yet.

“Alright, alright, I’m just—I just want you to do something for me first. Can you do that?” Tony twisted his palm against the head of Steve’s cock.

“Tony—”

“Tell me—” Tony cleared his throat. “Tell me you love me,” he said quietly, slowing down until he was barely moving at all.

“What?” Steve couldn’t even make sense of what he was saying. “No, don’t stop—”

“Tell me you love me,” Tony said again, louder this time, the hand that had been playing with Steve’s nipples sliding down between his legs, and Steve opened his thighs wider with groan, straining up for a touch that didn’t come.

“I—” He struggled to understand. “I do, you know I—”

“Tell me. C’mon, Steve,” Tony said, rubbing his thumb against the slit of Steve’s cock while his other hand grazed along hot skin. 

“I love you,” Steve gasped, squirming down until two fingers pressed against his hole, and he groaned in relief. It was good, so good, would only be better if they’d push in all the way, if it were Tony’s cock instead, shoving into him, filling him up—

“I love you too,” Tony said, mouth quirked up in a pleased smile, and Steve froze, wanting to tell Tony to wait, to repeat himself because he couldn’t possibly have heard him right, but it was too late. Steve came all over himself, a groan ripped from his throat, his body shaking like it’d never stop.

\-----

“Did you . . .” _Did you mean it?_ he wanted to ask after they’d both gotten dressed, but that probably wasn’t the best response to what Tony had said. He needed to know, however, and oh, he wanted to hear Tony say it again, felt raw from saying the words himself, and he wanted to be sure he hadn’t imagined them.

Tony shifted so they were sitting closer and took his hand, playing with his fingers as he said, “I’ve been thinking about telling you for a while now, but . . .” He shrugged. “You never say it,” he said, and he didn’t sound accusatory, but Steve still felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach, “and it seemed weird to bring it up out of the blue—”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to—” 

“Well, now you know,” Tony said, finally, _finally_ looking at him, and Steve didn’t know that he could recover from this, didn’t ever want to have the chance. “I love you, Steve,” Tony said, leaning forward.

“I love you too, Tony,” he said, cupping his jaw with an unsteady hand and pulling him in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd I’m spent. I can’t believe it’s taken me over a year to finish this fic—twice—but at least I did finish it, so that’s good, right? And oh man, the porn would just not cooperate. *shakes fist* Damn you, porn; damn you to hell! >_>
> 
> Thanks again to jennagrins for her generous donation. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but I hope you enjoyed the ride. 
> 
> And I always tell myself after I do one of these things that I’m never going to do it again, but if they happen to do another AO3 fund drive auction and if one of you feel like bidding oodles of money on me *cough, cough* in exchange for a fic of your choice, please let me know. :)


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